I learned the secret back when I was pliant and immediately it had me lurching forth
Why's it a secret if we all can find it in the faces we aren't searching for?

Yes I am guilty, yes I'm overridden with a terror of will bes and cannots and won'ts
You do not guilt me, we are only vessels who can open our fists and throw a rope

Nobody plans it, nobody can figure that there's either been warmth or something we can shear
How can the planet seem so unfamiliar when I'm eerily sure that you've always been here?

If a feather and lead weigh the same, then why bother give them different names?
Is it my task to reconcile every light flash with its waiting trial?
If a feather weighs the same as lead, why's one floating and one shooting dead?
Is it my job to reconcile?
Why was I not made more versatile?