Blueprint
Shane Koyczan Lyrics

In times of unimaginable grief people will offer you their sympathies.
During moments of intense sorrow, people will express their condolences to you.

And I appreciate the outstretched arm,
I am grateful for the extended support from others.

but I've been in a breaking things kinda mood.
However, I have been feeling inclined to destroy things lately.

I've been scarfing down on the food for thoughts and I've got bowels are backed-up with brilliant ideas that eventually I am gonna shit books.
I have been consuming a great amount of intellectual nourishment, causing my mind to be filled with remarkable ideas that I will eventually express and share through writing.

I'm gonna shit books are bad ass they'll be banned for defining trying to bravery as walking into a biker bar wearing a pink sweat shirt with a picture of a unicorn being tamed by gnome.
Once I release these books, they will be bold and provocative, daringly redefining courage as an act as audacious as entering a biker bar while wearing a pink sweatshirt adorned with an image of a unicorn being tamed by a gnome.

Going at alone is like leaping out of a window waiting for god to catch you.
Facing challenges alone feels similar to jumping out of a window and hoping for divine intervention to save you.

And in the second before impact gravity becomes a fact so well established it makes you calm.
Just a moment before hitting the ground, the undeniable presence of gravity becomes so evident that it brings a sense of tranquility.

I've gone from needing a shoulder to lean on to trying to calm the night into thinking that had the day shift.
My emotional journey has transitioned from seeking comfort from others to attempting to bring solace to my own turmoil and convincing myself that darkness will eventually give way to light.

I've turned my shadow to shoplift light from the back pocket of levity,
I have resorted to surreptitiously stealing fragments of hope and positivity from the depths of lightheartedness, even if it means compromising the integrity of my own shadow.

bend my forehead to the kiss of brevity hoping I could get through depression with some semblance of speed.
I humbly embrace the fleeting touch of brevity, yearning to overcome depression with a hint of expediency.

But the life of camera feed is under 24 hour delay, so I keep reliving the worst parts of yesterday in slow motion.
However, the footage of my life's experiences is subjected to a day-long delay, causing me to continuously relive the most painful moments of the past in excruciatingly slow motion.

And someone once told me that the finer points of devotion are about the size of a pin hole.
I recall someone imparting to me that the subtle intricacies of devotion can be as minuscule as the opening of a needle.

But there's millions of 'em, and if you can connect each dot then you've got a diagram of what you think you thought you knew.
However, there are countless of these delicate elements, and if one manages to connect every single one, they will possess a comprehensive blueprint of their own beliefs and misconceptions.

And if you are willing to admit you know nothing, you've got a blueprint for a breakthrough.
Furthermore, if you possess the humility to acknowledge your lack of knowledge, you have the foundation necessary to experience a transformative breakthrough.

I'm just trying to get by.
I am simply striving to navigate through life.

Huffing the glue that is supposed to keep me together in a world that global warming lets get this bad then bitches about the weather.
Metaphorically inhaling the adhesive that is expected to maintain my well-being in a world where the consequences of climate change have escalated to alarming levels, yet people still complain about trivial matters like the weather.

A world where jailbirds misdemeanor of a feather flock to the back alley in an attempt to stage their own private protest rally, because it still seems that capitalism is a convenience store open 24 hours a day, 7 days a week and if you're not coming to buy something they will not let you in to take a leak.
A world where individuals caught in minor offenses unite to organize their own clandestine demonstration in hidden corners, as it appears that capitalism resembles an ever-accessible convenience store that prioritizes consumerism over basic human needs.

But, I want to live in a world where 76 year olds hang out in nightclubs, because they still have not hit their peak.
However, I aspire to inhabit a world where individuals in their late seventies frequent nightclubs, reveling in the fact that they have yet to reach their full potential.

I want a week spent in silence so the next time we speak others will be ready to hear what we have to say and the following day will be comprised not so much of moments of silence, but 24 hours of noise.
I yearn for a period of profound silence, allowing others to prepare themselves to genuinely listen to our words, followed by an entire day filled not with silence but with ceaseless noise and self-expression.

Noise for the toys that we as children never wanted to let go, because we live in a world that told us to grow up as we grew,
Let us make noise in honor of the cherished toys that we as children were reluctant to abandon, since we live in a society that constantly pressures us to mature alongside our physical growth.

growing up to know we knew noise is not enough, because our fathers are dying.
Matured individuals come to understand that mere noise is insufficient, as our fathers are gradually passing away.

We were left trying to make sense out of a world that does not, because everything that was supposed to be was not, because what was not was never what we wished for.
We are left attempting to comprehend a world that lacks coherence and order, as everything that was expected to materialize failed to do so, leaving us disillusioned with the disparity between our desires and reality.

We grew up waging war against birthday candles, wishing our hearts would become handles for every time that we needed to get a grip.
We evolved by battling against the candles of each passing birthday, desiring our emotions to become sturdy handles that we could grasp firmly during challenging moments.

I make noise for a man who gave 20 years of his life to a gold mine and two years before retirement was rewarded with a pink slip.
I raise my voice in support of a man who dedicated two decades of his life to a gold mine, only to be handed a termination notice two years shy of his retirement.

Let us serve each chip on the shoulder of the tired and the poor, to the billionaires who are convinced that in owning everything, they still need more.
Together, let us address the grievances and burdens of the exhausted and underprivileged, directing our efforts towards the billionaires who, despite possessing immense wealth, continually crave for more.

This is for the bars bathroom floor.
This is a tribute to the grim environment of a bar's bathroom floor.

For the men and women who live there, because it's easier to care about where your next drink comes from, then it is to go home to no one.
For the individuals who reside in such spaces, as it is simpler to prioritize the source of their next alcoholic beverage rather than returning to an empty home.

Make noise for the son or daughter that lives inside you.
Create uproar in honor of the inner child that resides within you.

Maybe someday we'll understand what our parents went through.
Perhaps one day, we will comprehend the experiences and struggles our parents endured.

Make noise for everything you think you thought you knew as if knowing it was tough enough off the hard times;
Express your vocal solidarity for every belief that you believed to be true, as if simply possessing this knowledge was already a challenging feat during difficult periods.

noise for the mimes that will not, for the people that do not, for the children that can not.
Make noise for the mimes who refuse to speak, for the individuals who intentionally remain silent, and for the children who are unable to express themselves.

Make noise because the Land of Oz is crumbling and the Tin Man needs a heart transplant.
Raise your voice as the Land of Oz crumbles around us, recognizing the dire need for the Tin Man to receive a heart transplant.

This is for each senseless rant that will one day make sense.
This is a tribute dedicated to every seemingly nonsensical outburst that will eventually hold profound meaning and significance.

Let us put dents in the armor of those who said they could not be reached.
Together, let us make an impact on the impenetrable armor of those who proclaimed their inaccessibility.

This is for the beached whales beaching themselves because maybe love and loneliness are not just human conditions.
This is a tribute to the stranded whales that deliberately come ashore, highlighting the possibility that love and loneliness may not be exclusive to human beings.

Yell for the hopeless missions and hopeless wars fought by men hopeful.
Raise your voice in support of the seemingly futile missions and wars initiated by optimistic individuals.

Scream for the times' that was now and this was then.
Let out a scream to acknowledge the passing of time, recognizing the distinction between past and present.

There will be times when noise is not enough and you must stand.
There will come moments when mere noise is insufficient, necessitating the act of standing up and taking a stance.

So stand.
Therefore, stand firm.

As if you believe standing for the beliefs you believe in are worth standing for.
Stand as if you genuinely believe that your convictions are worthy of being defended.

As if every closed door is begging to be opened up and every beggar's cup is filled with the spare change needed to change the minds of those who'd have us think love is the missing link that we somewhere along the way misplaced.
Act as if each closed door longs to be pried open, and every beggar's cup is brimming with the exact amount of spare change required to persuade those who manipulate our perceptions, making us believe that love is an absent component we have lost along our journey.

Our lifelines are traced by hands not yet old enough to hold pencils, and there are no stencils for any alphabet that can be arranged to explain or articulate how we feel, because we feel so much more than we could ever voice,
The paths of our lives are marked by hands that are still too young to wield pencils, and no pre-made templates exist for any written language that can adequately elucidate or depict the depths of our emotions, as we experience significantly more than we could ever express verbally.

because every choice we makes takes us further from our fathers.
This is due to the fact that each decision we make leads us farther away from our parental figures.

And the disposition of long distance never bothers to explain that 'I miss you' means before and above all others.
The nature of separation fails to clarify that the phrase 'I miss you' signifies the feelings of longing that surpass all other connections and relationships.

Miss you like we miss the grandmothers with Alzheimer's whose lives resemble the missing punch line to one liners.
We yearn for the presence of our grandmothers with Alzheimer's, whose lives resemble a collection of jokes without their punchlines.

So wait.
Therefore, be patient.

And when she finally looks at you, as if she was looking for you,
Once she eventually gazes at you, as if searching specifically for your presence,

stand and make noise just so she knows that you were looking too.
Rise and vocalize your existence, ensuring that she understands you were also seeking her.

Tell her, 'Thank God I found you.'
Convey to her, 'I am grateful that I have discovered you.'

Because know it or not, you were part of her blueprint.
Whether she realizes it or not, you played a significant role in shaping her life and identity.

She had blood like a flint that sparked you father or mother in this flame and you, like they must burn whether you like it or not, but you were given gifts.
Her essence carried a passionate fire that ignited the creation of your father or mother, and just like them, you are destined to undergo transformation and growth, whether you embrace it or not. However, you were bestowed with unique talents and virtues.

You've got windpipes that house hurricanes, floods veins that pump.
Your vocal cords possess the power to roar like hurricanes, while your veins surge with the force of flooding waters.

I'm not the first one to say it, 'Gather ye rosebuds while ye may, Old Time is still a flying: And this same flower that smiles today. Tomorrow will be dying.'
I am not the initial messenger of this idea, but as the poem advises, seize the opportunity to enjoy life's pleasures while you still can, for time relentlessly passes by. The beautiful flower that graces our present moment will inevitably wither tomorrow.

Every new birthday candle you blow out time is only trying to tell you that every breakthrough you make will only take you closer to the day that your parents must pay the ferry man for a ride to the other side of the river and you will one day be on your own.
Whenever you extinguish a new birthday candle, time subtly reminds you that each personal triumph brings you closer to the day when your parents will embark on their final journey and you will eventually be left to navigate life independently.

But you carry with you a blueprint, a hint that your history will always be with you, that you were your parents' breakthrough.
However, you possess a symbolic blueprint, a reminder that your past will forever shape your identity, as you are the manifestation of your parents' personal triumphs and accomplishments.

Your blood will be the crazy glue that keeps you together on the eventual day when you must stand alone.
Your lineage will act as the adhesive that holds you together when the time arrives for you to confront the world independently.

They stand and make mountains jealous of how much you've grown.
They proudly stand and astound others with the tremendous growth you have achieved.