Drama’s ensconced in each look and each meeting,
each quarrel belongs in a history book.
Films should be made of the way my heart’s beating,
drama’s ensconced in each look!
What should we make, then, of life? What’ll qualify?
Trimming your pubes with a Swiss army knife,
loafing all morning like wet hippopotami?
What should we make, then, of life?
Nothing you notice is random, there’s reason in
everything, all the wheels grind on in tandem.
Everything’s caused, without garnish or seasoning.
Nothing you notice is random.
Life is much more than it seems, so I strive
like fish in the face of the flow of their streams,
I battle to register that I’m alive.
Life is much more than it seems.
