"It was always going to be like this, whatever you bring yourself
to say. Why don't you point that thing the other way and telescope
this tangled story? You've got the whole thing at your fingertips,
already scripted in an alien Braille, snagged up under your
fingernails."
Oh, so blissful, in ignorance we pin the tail, with smudgy marks
we scratch the surface. We are what we were born to be, we are what
we become over time, under our own thumbs. We are written in our
fingerprints, in everything we do and see; we are written in our
fingerprints, so very singular the marks of our destiny. So open
the hands: this is a lifespan.
I found the future in my grasp, the line of least resistance,
naturally; joined up the dots and never thought to ask could I
somehow do this differently? In the heat of the moment it's impressed
on me what's done is done in understanding. And if I had a choice to
make I ignored it as such. So our lifelines accumulate like the dust
on the things we've touched. We are written in our fingerprints, all
of our virtues, all our vice. We are written in our fingerprints.
Once upon a time the story: we won't go through these motions twice.
We are written in our fingerprints. We don't get to do this thing twice,
so let's play out the hand, unconsciously pre-planned.