Letras
Pages whisper, silk and smoke
Ancient rivers, words they spoke
Hexagrams drawn in the fading light
Wisdom trembles, slipping out of sight
Coins are tossed but the echoes fall
No one listens, no one calls
Shadows dance where truth should sing
Itching for the I Ching
I Ching itching, can you hear the sound
The voice of ages sinking underground
Lines of balance, broken, crossed
Wisdom remembered, but mostly lost
Mountains move and rivers bend
Lessons circle with no end
Yet the screens glow brighter than the moon
And silence drowns the ancient tune
Hands are reaching, but they don't hold
The oracles fade, their stories old
In the static where we cling
I'm itching for the I Ching
I Ching itching, can you hear the sound
The voice of ages sinking underground
Lines of balance, broken, crossed
Wisdom remembered, but mostly lost
Change is the only truth we keep
Yet we bury it, buried deep
What is lost when we stop to know
A river dammed will never flow
I Ching itching, whisper through the rain
Teach the restless, heal the pain
Ancient voices, fading slow
Itching for the truth we used to know