While the barrage of signals points,
A new compass leads the way
To industry and fermentation, longing for a new chance.
Its a thought, not all the way through
You must give to this
Your expansive time
In that dream, yes I saw mutants in my words
Humans too disturbed.
By the mountainous flesh that lay there lying there.
Was a dream.
In which I could talk,
And carry about.
Only, they had to know.
And so as his eyes punctuated forth,
Drawing mirrors of silliness
The fragrance is the pasture
And the wheat is past her.
That’s the way we could talk,
And I’m not talking,
And soon it will catch on,
That you and I are both drawing.