If we knew where we were going
Bet your life we wouldn’t go,
Knew the seeds we were sowing,
Bet your life we wouldn’t sow.

There’s a man on the mountain
Who comes from long ago,
And spirits in the fountain
Who’ll tell you what they know.

They know there’re only questions
That hide another fold.
Hints and suggestions
That the centre cannot hold. 

The flowers bloom in season
And die when it gets cold,
But we must have our reasons
For the lies that we are told.

We think that time moves forward
In lines that do not bend;
We’ve invented a beginning
But can’t produce an end.

Yet the world is a circle
And we’ve broken all her rules
By ironing the cycle
We’ve made ourselves her fools.

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