And everyone is sad.
Everything’s of spinners,
And everyone’s so mad.
A Carousel we’re riding,
A constant, twirling mass.
We sit astride dyed animals.
The mocking of our past.
Children’s teeth are shining—
While close adults are wining—
Men and women crying—
And older ones are dying—
Subatomic specks in us—
This mass beneath—on its axis—rotating—
Orbiting the prisoner to the cosmic center—
That’s probably linked to another—grander and even more ineffable.
Who could bless us these pirouettes!
But yet blame us for our mind?!
For we’ll heave a million times before
Our spinning stops with time.
Who can stand this nauseating life
This craziness, this constant strife?
Who can keep the sickness down,
Not spew their malice on all around?
I’m incapable—are you?
Yes— I know this to be true.
But it’s escapable—who knew?
Yes, it’s escapable—it’s true—
Yes, let’s escape—just me and you—
Yes—It’s escapable—it’s true.
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