We talk too much
We talk in circles
Till we're all spinning around,
Reaching for rings,
On this marry-go-round
The scenery's spent
We call it progress
I've seen this all before
When all said is done,
Wake up on the floor
We set sail with no fixed star in sight
We drive by (braille?/brail?) in candle light
We're building towers, with no foundation.
Just stacking stone on stone
Whatever it takes
Mix our mortar with (books?/bones?)
True progress means, matching the world to
The vision in our heads.
We always change,
The vision instead.
We set sail with no fixed star in sight.
We drive by (braille?/brail?) in candle light
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