coming in

i threw myself into the twister,
storm on the back porch,
it poured and poured into the buckets of plastic wishing wells
i left out to collect those godly tears,
cry and cry old climber,
the mountain's slope never got easier,
but we all thought it was gonna get easier

and we can now open our eyes
into the room that was lit the whole time,
we were not tricked by our perceptions,
only unaware of our perspective,
while we sat twiddling our thumbs
in the cobweb corner