Someone Once Told Me

Every thing is alive. And I've even heard you can hear the thump thump that proves it.
Everything is alive. And I've even heard the concrete makes a click clack when it walks.
Everything is alive. And I've even heard I spend my time as if I was living in the grave.
Everything is alive. And I've been spending most my time waiting for something to Breath.

Waiting for something to breath, I've heard, is a lot like waiting for someone to make a move.
Waiting physically in a weakened state while imagination constructs its own imbalance,
And races through possibilities that whisper like a sincere conversation in a noisy crowd.
Then, if you're lucky, or drunk, you finally kiss and she kisses you back and you'll kiss again.
Your bones could stretch like a piece of gum that's been chewed and chewed and lost it's flavor.

When you wait for something to breath you check for all the signs: the inhale, the exhale
All that, you pay close attention to. And I've even heard you can see someone's life in their eyes.
I don't know how to check for that, but I'll keep it in mind. But anyways, I'm waiting for something to breath.

Because everything is alive, and I'm waiting for something to breath so I can believe everything is alive.