Chonny Jash | Chonny Jash - The Ship of Theseus @ChonnyJash | Uploaded 1 month ago | Updated 1 hour ago
The human.
Art by Murexas, Voib, Kai, Dansan and LovelyShiz!
twitter.com/mur3xas
twitter.com/disruptivevoid
twitter.com/CalamariSpider
twitter.com/artofdansan
twitter.com/LovelyShiz
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LYRICS:
I’m just a man.
A cobblement of who I’ve been, who I’ll be, and who I am.
I’ve learned many things to forget, and I’m sure that I’ll see infinitely more yet.
I’m just a man.
A culmination of what I do, and say, and think, therefore I am.
I’ve forgotten more than I’ll ever know,
and I’ll forget another dozen more things by tomorrow.
I’m messy. I’m incomplete.
Each mountain I finally climb just reveals another peak.
Arrogance. Pride. Conceit.
All synonyms for the same sound that makes up my back-beat.
I’m just this version of me.
Halfway to 24. Half-past 23.
The clock will tock, tick, chip me slowly away;
like the ocean washes the rock; tomorrow forgets today.
I have awoken from a nightmare.
(Oh, can you see?)
Girt by sea.
Such an awful dream.
I’m just a small, shallow, frail and fragile thing:
(Tomorrow forgets today...)
A human being.
(...but the tide begets another way.)
So, call me what you like. I’ll be alright.
(I’m just a vessel. I’m just a machine.
I’m just scrapbook of ill-forgot stories.)
Lo, sure as it is night, soon rise the light.
(I’m just a broken thing.
Patched together. Stretched at the seams.
But beauty is as beauty sees.)
Eclecticism incarnate.
I don’t know where I’ll end up, and I’ve forgotten where I started.
I think my name’s not yet been changed?
It might be the only piece of my identity that’s not yet been exchanged.
I’m just a ship. I’m just a man. I’m full of shit. I’m free from reprimand.
I’m just a piece of a piece of a piece of an idea, borne of one of a trillion grains of sand.
So, when the next vessel reaches land,
can we both agree to extend a helping hand?
Is it a curse? Is it a blessing?
It creates its own wound, then administers its own fucking dressings.
A disinfectant to cleanse itself.
A little piece of Heaven to adorn this patchwork Hell.
The tide on its own hides thoughts unknown.
The secrets the seas held are vast and lone.
They collect the steps that we can’t retrace,
debase memories of Gods, and Kings, and Saints.
The ocean’s seen crimes obscene of hate.
Least of all, the woes of one reprobate.
But the rising sun forgives all mistakes.
It seems Artemis is in retrograde.
The God of Night will make way for Day.
So, call me what you like. I’ll ride this tide.
(I prayed for glory. I made a story.
The Gods above, I’m sure, abhor me.)
Though Poseidon’s seldom kind, I’ll be alright.
(“I want a vision of what I’m to be.”
The monkey’s paw grips my neck tightly.)
No, time is all we own, so take what you’re owed.
And though mine is borrowed, I’ll make the most of this deadloan.
So, call me what you like. I will survive.
“It must stay just.”
“Free from flaw and rust.”
Tell that to Icarus, Narcissus and that fool with the lotuses.
It seems they’ve forsaken us.
I’m just a man, scared and scant, feigning triumphant.
I’m just a man in a crash-land, trying to stand,
riding the current.
The human.
Art by Murexas, Voib, Kai, Dansan and LovelyShiz!
twitter.com/mur3xas
twitter.com/disruptivevoid
twitter.com/CalamariSpider
twitter.com/artofdansan
twitter.com/LovelyShiz
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
LYRICS:
I’m just a man.
A cobblement of who I’ve been, who I’ll be, and who I am.
I’ve learned many things to forget, and I’m sure that I’ll see infinitely more yet.
I’m just a man.
A culmination of what I do, and say, and think, therefore I am.
I’ve forgotten more than I’ll ever know,
and I’ll forget another dozen more things by tomorrow.
I’m messy. I’m incomplete.
Each mountain I finally climb just reveals another peak.
Arrogance. Pride. Conceit.
All synonyms for the same sound that makes up my back-beat.
I’m just this version of me.
Halfway to 24. Half-past 23.
The clock will tock, tick, chip me slowly away;
like the ocean washes the rock; tomorrow forgets today.
I have awoken from a nightmare.
(Oh, can you see?)
Girt by sea.
Such an awful dream.
I’m just a small, shallow, frail and fragile thing:
(Tomorrow forgets today...)
A human being.
(...but the tide begets another way.)
So, call me what you like. I’ll be alright.
(I’m just a vessel. I’m just a machine.
I’m just scrapbook of ill-forgot stories.)
Lo, sure as it is night, soon rise the light.
(I’m just a broken thing.
Patched together. Stretched at the seams.
But beauty is as beauty sees.)
Eclecticism incarnate.
I don’t know where I’ll end up, and I’ve forgotten where I started.
I think my name’s not yet been changed?
It might be the only piece of my identity that’s not yet been exchanged.
I’m just a ship. I’m just a man. I’m full of shit. I’m free from reprimand.
I’m just a piece of a piece of a piece of an idea, borne of one of a trillion grains of sand.
So, when the next vessel reaches land,
can we both agree to extend a helping hand?
Is it a curse? Is it a blessing?
It creates its own wound, then administers its own fucking dressings.
A disinfectant to cleanse itself.
A little piece of Heaven to adorn this patchwork Hell.
The tide on its own hides thoughts unknown.
The secrets the seas held are vast and lone.
They collect the steps that we can’t retrace,
debase memories of Gods, and Kings, and Saints.
The ocean’s seen crimes obscene of hate.
Least of all, the woes of one reprobate.
But the rising sun forgives all mistakes.
It seems Artemis is in retrograde.
The God of Night will make way for Day.
So, call me what you like. I’ll ride this tide.
(I prayed for glory. I made a story.
The Gods above, I’m sure, abhor me.)
Though Poseidon’s seldom kind, I’ll be alright.
(“I want a vision of what I’m to be.”
The monkey’s paw grips my neck tightly.)
No, time is all we own, so take what you’re owed.
And though mine is borrowed, I’ll make the most of this deadloan.
So, call me what you like. I will survive.
“It must stay just.”
“Free from flaw and rust.”
Tell that to Icarus, Narcissus and that fool with the lotuses.
It seems they’ve forsaken us.
I’m just a man, scared and scant, feigning triumphant.
I’m just a man in a crash-land, trying to stand,
riding the current.
