Fluffington

You won't find it. You won't find it in the prose you write. In the pages you read. Nor will you find it in the books you burn. You won't find it on the wind. You won't find in it the trees. You won't find it in the blazes you start. You won't find it in the people you know Nor in the people you break Nor will you find it in webs you weave You won't find it in that hole where love used to be You won't find it where hate replaced trust You won't find it in the foot prints you thought you left Nor will you find it in the green grass that's grown over them You won't find it. You won't find it. I can't find it.

"What's wrong with you?" "Oh it's just… You know when someone pulls a tablecloth off a table with everything still on it?" "Yeah. Everything flies in the air in this spectacular display of chaos. Someone's gasping and yelling and screaming all at once, and then drowned out when it all crashes to the floor. It's unrecognizable. Just a mixture and mess of something that once had some semblance to it." "No, no, I mean those guys that pull the tablecloth away without anything moving." "Oh yeah, those guys, but I still don't see how—" "I know, just—when they do that, everything looks all right. Nothing is crashing, no one's scr