So concerned with the poetry of the motion
that the meaning of the words escape you.
Feel the beat and find the rhythm,
but the lyrics fall on deaf ears.
In the grand design your eyes are blind,
from the orbits of your own little world.
God forbid the sun should shift.
God forbid the odes were written to another.
Could you thrive? Could you survive?
Since the words are lost on you,
you have no reason left to try.
