I've materialized
into this worded world
a metaphysical skeptic,
an insomniac narcoleptic,
soI live alone
with Ben Fraknlin's ghost.
He's my freemason and I'm his host.
In my dictionary
of this worried world
there's 57 different definitions of time
and we debate each heatedly repeatedly.
Benjamin insists intentions don't exist
and it's through unknown reaching
we each remain
our own best intentions.
But as each machine demands its own language
and each language demands its own grammar,
If DC's streets make a neat pentagram
and every dollar bill brags god's behind our plan
who am I to have any idea who I am?
So we might fight all night every night
but we seem to agree on stormcloud study.
This lady's man's ghost and me and stormcloud study.