For all the good it can do,
It is as unintelligible as grass,
I see it leaving only stain on ass,
Foiling with a clever under-pass.
So why the passion for the word?
Inexplicable rhyme of bended fold.
Leaving half the story left untold.
And all my sons’ out in the cold.
Before the lights of truth rush in,
I could only hope for ignorance,
Maybe this serves me well by chance,
As in the weird game of life we dance.
I hope for nothing more I fear,
Than filtered cosmic dust in hand.
Played loud from, the universal band,
My feet firmly on earth where I stand.