The Art Of Not Knowing

I am our cartographer
And to the sound of sad pianos
I sketch away the shore
To try to get to you
I vacillate and oscillate, uncertain on this axis
And oh what would a real man do?
What could a real man do now?
Like maps to each other, we plot and trace and stutter
But no matter the route, I can’t find a way
I can’t find a, way, to you
I can’t find a, way, to you
We’re wrought, with the broken maps of our thoughts
Yet we stretch, cross a gulf that knows we are less
She said, how can we know what is right
When we, live only one life at a time
And these ambivalences
We’ll force to become nothing
Eaten away, we will strive and we will stay
To force our way past the shores
And know, a little bit more
An endless emptiness, soaked through my skin
The world seemed dim
The aching seemed to sing
I’m so sick of depriving myself
Of the beauty, and the meaning these moments deserve
But we tear at the roots
And we scratch away the truth
Serving our secret want to make things worse
In waiting rooms our voices linger on
The signs above the door, read burdensome
We scratch at the silence try to see in the dark
Come to peace, we can’t see, and not-knowing is the art
We’re wrought, with the broken maps of our thoughts
Yet we stretch, cross a gulf that knows we are less
She said, how can we know what is right
When we, live only one life at a time
And these ambivalences
We’ll force to become nothing
Eaten away, we will strive and we will stay
To force our way past the shores
And know, a little bit more