Shane Koyczan - Tarot lyrics

The Fool loves completely. He stands with arms wide open, hoping to give away hugs for free. He does not consider this work, he believes this is necessary. Believes someone has to put a positive spin on the term "arms dealer". So he gives out hugs for free. He stands with arms open like invitations to a party. No need to rsvp, you are cordially invited here, right now. No need to disavow a need to be held. Weld your arms around his shoulders, glue your cheek to his chest, test his commitment if you must. The fool will never let you go, nor will he keep you forever. He will be yours until you say so. He doesn't know how to hold on. He's gone through the yes and no, the ebb and flow of tides that rush in only to run away. He doesn't stay long enough to see if the boomerang came back. He doesn't pack lightly. He will be first in line for the party of his demise but will surprise even d**h by leaving early. He was raised by a mountain, one that shed its snow like skin knowing that an avalanche can demonstrate the power of letting things go. The fool was brought up with no sense of direction. If it comes down to it he will fall up. He will rattle a cup looking for change, because he can't stand the sameness. He will dismiss the simple questions. Don't ask him how it's going. He doesn't want to tell you what's new. He is deaf to weather reports and blind to cute pictures or your dog cat or baby. He will, however, look at your fish. Don't question his methods. The fool doesn't know how to stop. But he is expected to understand in the instant his hand is like go he's expected to know that the tiny kindnesses, were just pretend. He's expected to transcend his own feelings and step aside to make way for the something better that so suddenly comes along. The justification plays in his mind like a theme song for a bad cereal. Silly creature, love is for humans. He smiles as his ears become garbage bins, filling with the throwaway advice that people always give, but never seem to take. His body becomes the lake into which others will throw the stone of his heart, hoping it will sink beyond rescue. Even in this he will glue his hands together and wish you, an unrelenting happiness. He will plant a kiss upon each open wound where love left him to bleed. Each kiss a seed blooming into a reaf that he will rest upon the headstone of the grave, where he stands in solitude to pay respect to whatever this was. He will do this because that's what he does His love does not end. He will bend it back to the beginning, wrapping the finish line around your waist like a belt, just so you can feel what he felt when he held you. When he knew nothing of ownership. When he refused to slip chains around you because he knew then, as again he knows now, how obedience is only beautiful when it is given. He will be the nail driven into the coffin of your doubt. He will tell you the truth about this race you've been running. The only finish line is d**h, and whether hurried, whether slow and steady, ready or unwilling, one day you must win. One day, you will be the mountain that lets go of its snow. You will show tree branches how to wave goodbye to their leaves. You will be the single string of the tapestry that weaves its way out of the design. Your finish line is running towards you, so smile and trust that we, all of us, will arrive at the same destiny. For now, you are the inventor of your history. So be creative, live like the world around you is your workshop, swap out the parts that don't work for the ones that do. Build through the hurt. There will be hurt. There will be disappointment and guilt. There will be monuments built for the sole purpose of celebrating all of the awful that must exist simply to give us beautiful contrast. The fool will walk past all of it. He will split atoms with his heels as if each new step forward reveals a tiny chaos left tumbling in his wake. He will break himself open and offer up his trust, knowing it is the only gift worth giving, that the hardest part of living, is watching what others will do with it. That there are though who would split it in two juust to make him feel what they feel.