As I fly through the eye unaware

That the man at the helm is more scared

Of losing his money than his mind or his hold on the sky



And the wings on his rings that he wears

Bend and bow to the man splitting hairs

Between the weight of his pennies and the birds in the sky

And what makes them fly



And the stone inside the seed is what feeds the rose

And the bud that grows from weed

Is more knowing than those

Who purge the fishless sea

From their sinking boat

'Cause the skin is all they see

For a glimpse of gold

For a glimpse of gold