Finite

In a quantity of light,
you can search for all of your life,
but it’s finite.

From a sudden burst of sound,
the recoil may never be found,
it is finite.

On and on, on and on,
but impervious to calculation.
On and on, on and on,
it’s impervious to calculation
just how far it goes, nobody knows.

In the peaceful warm embrace,
the intention shows on your face,
but it’s finite.

From the hate that spurs us on
to the meek and gullible pawn,
it is finite.

On and on, on and on,
but impervious to calculation.
On and on, on and on,
it’s impervious to calculation
just how far it goes.

Where the lightning sparked a flash
when precisely did it pass,
all delusions went away
as with all the shades of gray.
Now I’m left with faulty tools
and a hazy set of rules and brand new day.

In the turbulent conscious stream,
the unbearable lightness of being,
it is finite.

From the universal mass,
constant matters coming to pass,
it is finite.

On and on, on and on,
but impervious to calculation.
On and on, on and on,
it’s impervious to calculation
just how far it goes, nobody knows.

No one knows,
no one knows,
no one knows.