Playt #7: The Lobotomy

The slippage of time is not in one dimension
Yet space is a fabric, growing with tension
Stretched and pulled, eventually forced to rip
For us it is slowed, so we can enjoy the trip

The bubble around us could be 10 million years behind
But we'd never notice, 'cause we're frozen in time
I'd like to see the tunnel, on the other side of the door
A tunnel that echoes forever, one without a floor

If a bottle was dropped in this room of endless echo
Could it eventually drift and mutate into a gecko?
The gecko would prolly fly back like a rocket
Open it's mouth, and eat off your pocket

Life ain't nothin but a bottle of rockets
Spinnin out of the atmosphere with someone's pockets
The Journey forward isn't anything but a Wilson head
In a struggle for the tunnel through which we're led