You board a soundless tornado Spawned by the storm you're withholding A second disguised as an hour When will the outcome unravel? How wide do your feathers unfold? Would you fly? Could you land? Would your shoulders hold? White noise trees Can't hear Open windows Stay You get up from the furrow, outlined by the decided A meter disguised as a light year Will you have someone to unveil? How wide do your feathers unfold? Would you fly? Could you land? Would your shoulders hold?