I take too long to smell the roses.
My mind is a protocol of a life saving machine, instructions sent in the wrong language.
We can't send it back, the shipping fees are too expensive.
The translator's gone fishing, he won't be back in time.
Rolling seas and tumbling winds carried off our chance at an easier way.
The search party go unformed, the police remain clueless,
We'll take the shortcut and find it ourselves.
Armed with nothing but a flashlight, we'll leave into dawn,
The streetlights dancing shadows across our bodies.
Maps are burned, compasses tricked, direction caused this mess.
From Jesus Christ to Michelangelo, no rocks left unturned,
This isn't done until they stare at our wings.