Margin (Zachary Gray remix)

It's in the margin of inertia's gauzy exaltation,
its always harboring the need for some preoccupation.
He brought his borders forth,
across the mossy forest floor.
And I bury these messages,
coz this form is mine not his.

Realign my thoroughfares,
they may not be just what he's wanting.
That's ok the one I'm on is good enough to keep the hours counting.
Don't let the ardor cease,
or trivialize the rising sea.
And I hide these missives
to prove this is mine, not his.

With a lack of fanfare and lack of source,
dreams and barriers settle the course.
Deadened nerves become cold to the touch,
forgo feeding the fire too much.

If he's to place our salvation behind some weathered doorway,
he may distract us with the details laid into its carpentry.