Mr. Fox

Monsters Calling Home - Foxbeard (live)
I knew a lady lost the forest for the trees
She grew a lust to bury all underneath
She cut to their heart, she bled them dry
She kept her fire burning up to the sky

She's building up her kingdom of sticks and stones
I hear the words in between they tend to never hold
Was she living ever after or making belief
She kept away from the heart the things unseen

I don't want to be your monkey boy 
But my cymbals are crashing 
My teeth oh they chatter 
Cause I'm cold, cold, cold 
Without your claps, claps, claps 
And I don't know, know know 
If this is ever, ever gonna stop 

The closest thing I can liken life to is a book—the way it stretches out on paper, page after page, as if to trick the mind into thinking it isn’t all happening at once…But no, life cannot be understood flat on a page—it has to be lived. A person has to get out of his head, has to fall in love, has to memorize poems, has to jump off bridges into rivers, has to stand in an empty desert and whisper sonnets under his breath. I’ll tell you how the sun rose, a ribbon at a time. It’s a living book, this life. It folds out in a million settings, cast with a billion beautiful characters, and it is almost over for you. It doesn’t matter how old you are. It is coming to a close quickly…So soon, you will be in that part of the book where you’re holding the bulk of the pages in your left hand and only a thin wisp of the story in your right. You will know by the page count, not by the narrative, that the author is wrapping things up. You begin to mourn its ending and want to pace yourself slowly toward its closure, knowing the last lines will speak of something beautiful, of the end of something long and earned, and you hope the thing closes out like last breaths, like whispers about how much and who the characters have come to love, and how authentic the sentiments feel when they have earned a hundred pages of qualification…