Like clockwork mice they run around
Drawing painted circles in my mind
So I leave them to their own devices
And wait until their time is tainted
They think they see new plains with
Each of their planned turns
But all they do is forget where they've been
And return with a new game, set, match
That I strike against the coarse ground
But they scamper and scurry away from the heat
Their still shadows on the walls,
Almost perfect and yet so hoarse.
Willing to score out their message
Again, again.
A chorus of echoes
No beginning and no end.
So they stay in their cave,
And they can follow their trends
But they'll always fear the truth
And like a wallowing wave, at any moment
It can come and wipe out those bitter sands
A broken mind that we cannot mend.
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