Blue Without Warning. lyrics by #drpatty2e

(Fragmented Intro) A matchstick remembers its fire— But what of the ash? The sky forgets itself every morning, And still, we name it blue. Who am I to argue? Who are you not to? (Verse 1) I was a string of lights blinking out of sync, a highway folding into its brink. A tooth in the mouth of eternity, grinding down the moments endlessly. Each breath was a borrowed hammer; each thought, a thief with no glamour. (Chorus) And the ocean climbed into a glass, the glass forgot the ocean’s mass. The dancer spun herself apart, until she was only spinning, only spinning, only the air, and then, not even that. (Interlude) Let me build a temple out of socks and spoons, let me pray to the silence of forgotten tunes. Is this not Brahman too? The hum of the fridge at 3 a.m., the graffiti on the edge of sleep's hem, the dust that dances in the beam of a lonely flashlight— all singing the same soundless hymn. (Verse 2) I found Atman in the static on Channel 3, between a sitcom rerun and a preacher's plea. It was laughing at me through a cracked windshield, whispering in a voice that wouldn’t yield: “You’re a coffee stain on the fabric of time— but the stain is the coffee, and both are sublime.” (Bridge) Brahman crawled out of the vending machine. Atman got stuck in the elevator’s sheen. The universe is a laundromat spinning socks that don’t match. And yet— The cycle completes. The cycle repeats. The cycle defeats. (Chorus) The glass is still holding the ocean, but the ocean doesn’t care for devotion. The dancer keeps spinning into threads of light— light that becomes dust, dust that forgets it was bright. The forgetting is the remembering, and the remembering, the surrendering. (Outro) Atman fell asleep at the wheel. Brahman woke up in the passenger seat, surreal. And the road folded back into itself, like it never existed, like it always did. The sky forgets itself every morning— and still, we call it blue without warning.