Catapult

There's a thousand voices
In my head today
They say so many things
At once

It's all random
Nobody planned them
Spinning around in a
Verbal flood

What's that what's that
Before you've begun
Agreeing with yourself
On every point except one

Understated when overheard
Each thought relates
To a language
Which needs no word

Well consider it a gift
Like an echoing mirage
In a maze of mirrors
Or feeling adrift

Of a series of ages
While each stage
Rearranges
Everything in sight

Until figures of fantasy
Seem to take flight
All across my view

Are the lines on the faces of
Things that I thought I knew

Are the lines on the faces of
Things that I thought I knew

Are the lines on the faces of
Things that I thought I knew