Tuesday, March 9, 2010


I've banged my head for days against the walls inside this maze,
I've never been too good at this damn kind of thing.
I'm in here with my father, I'm just pacing, but he's smarter,
and he's building a fantastic set of wings.
And like that, I'm up and flying,
with the labyrinth behind me,
but I go too high--the sun is melting through the wax!
It burns, it hurts, I tumble to the earth,
and as I fall I feel myself relax.

Am I letting go? I think I'm letting go.
I must be letting go.
I've got to let it go.
Let it go.
Let it go.
Let it go.

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M is for Margaret, who was swept out to sea...