I wish I were made up of lines of light
Wish for a straighter shadow to call mine
If my contours could be so fine
Oh if my being could be white light
and I were planes and edges sharp defined
So I could leave this organic life
(could leave this organic life)
could electricity be my fire?
and I survive the granite-splashed spire
Into an age when shapes of blob worms
Restricted only lower--
lower life forms

I wish I were made up of lines of light
I wish I were made up of lines of light
Wish for a straighter shadow to be mine
If my contours could be so fine
Oh if my being could be white light
(Oh if my being could be white light)