I wait for my backbone to pick me up, skin as thin as petals.
I wait because it will be clearer once all this dust settles.
Time goes by and I can see the spots that once were blind.
Time goes by and I feel I can understand more of my mind.
I think I'm getting wiser but perhaps I'm just getting old.
I feel like it's been twenty lifetimes but so much is yet untold.
Yet if I talk with conviction don't believe a word that I say.
Really, I know nothing at all anyway.
Some people see a house of God, others walls and a roof.
Some aren't persuaded by Einstein, others claim to have proof.
Having faith that there do exist that which you can't feel or see
must bring comfort, but it never felt comfortable to me.
When our beliefs are wrong- textbooks and papers on heuristics
and research into judgement fallacies all backed up with statistics.
We put our trust in numbers but we invented the scale.
We picked out the measures, deciding where evidence will fail.
I'd tell you to shun the idea of proof but don't listen to what I say-
Really, I know nothing at all anyway.
Life experiences take on a shape, always changing as you grew.
You poured into the mould and now that shape is shaped like you.
You've seen enough of living and had the use of your free will
you're sure you know your every fault, idiosyncrasy, fear and skill.
There come moments of epiphany, and they feel so profound
I think I see completely but when those breakthroughs come around
Life throws a curve-ball, something unseen, so I have to say-
Really, I know nothing at all anyway.
Can't ever be certain, can't ever know if it's fact or fiction.
You can't ever seem to know enough to make a good prediction
about what is going to happen and how you might react.
All you can do is remember it and make your own kind of fact.
When so much is chaos there's only one thing we can choose-
will the past will inform the present or become yesterdays news?
With nothing to prove it can feel liberating just to say
Really, I know nothing at all anyway.
