IX625 Annuit Coeptis Into the Mystery Cover Art Prologue The Call The Choice The Press The Trial The Answer Afterword Home Site Map Contact Search Message Board

Dream Yet Complete A Nursery Rhyme for Grown-Ups Two | The Choice Used to seem much easier, when thinking grown-ups knew   Mind your manners, ma and pa, eat all your peas and queues "What a good boy!" I would hear, well maybe most the time   Took so long to puzzle out, the peace from "never mind" Heartfelt questions children ask, like gum stuck to the soul   Sometimes I forget and look, then answers take their toll Please don't think me fishing for, a sympathetic eye   How's a sheepish boy so blue, to build it in the sky If not for strange foundations, I'd be on shifting sands   Unconventionality, it takes to draw the plans Even little piggies know, the waves will wash away   Trails that the children grow, unless in mind they play It would be much easier, for all of us I think   Look at what we're standing on, and what we're on the brink If now could be just like then, then maybe we could speak   Wouldn't have to run and hide, from what our wishes seek If we did not know better, what questions we could ask!   Listening, we'd make believe, and wear the answer's mask As for me, I'm often told, who'm I to disagree   Time to join the real world, stop playing make believe They say I should know better, let's see if they're all right   Make believe that we can see, what real worlds are like Just for fun we can pretend, there's treasure to be found   Gold doubloons in living rooms, if riddle is unwound Grown-ups too play make believe, when playing grown-up games   Some play ours when full of moon, before attention wanes Hard to know just what they'll think, 'cause what they think they know   Is explained with answers like, "That's just the way it goes" So pardon me a moment, or help me try to reach   Reflections make the grown-up, so that's what we'll entreat We'll put it in the paper, or better yet, TV   Commentator commentates, most everyone agrees No heroes without villains, contends the silver screen   Grown-ups might grow interested, if picture me a fiend You know that we're all good guys, but others cross their eyes   Besides, the news won't play it, unless somebody dies You know that killing's evil, and no one's better dead   God is good, as I believe, in heart and hardened head It's evil to hate evil, so what are we to do   With the mess the grown-ups left, as interest does accrue If problems were solutions, then answers would abound   Maybe we should thank them all, by foxing with their hounds Everybody gets a shot, 'cause all the world is staged   Wouldn't want to waste my turn, blind spot I'd not engage What if I've a single round, the ref might count to ten   Cost of shooting cryptic bull, in eyes would haunt me when "Think of what you could have been," reflections charge displeased   Nothing ventured, nothing lost, except good memories Some things are worth fighting for, like writing wronged insight   Fighting for a fighting chance, to fight the chance to fight Biting disapproval crowds, boo bloodied hand from ring   Danger in diverting flight, amend in prayer on wing Second-staging strategy, make long shot rendezvous   Target the meek never miss, into the black and blue Wishing on a shooting star, don't dread the count from ten   If it seems I lost the round, check scenery again Strategy that I call safe, and umpire calls strike three   Catchers just can't catch 'em all, runner holds the key Empty box by empty plate, it always seems the worst   Just before it dawns and you, take second look at first Batting clean up, leading off, you following my drift?   Seeming things not always are, but answers can we sift Many meanings have few words, and some are even true   Sometimes three roads lead one to, a fourth that no one knew Footsteps blaze the trail taken, a path that we'll create   Just because you're following, don't mean I can't relate Think I conflict with signals? Should see the signs I yield   Coded morsels in the air, across the diamond field Mixing words and metaphors, desegregate the game   Some rules should not be broken, some should be profaned Who are we to question rules? I'll tell you who and why   We're the hope another has, the reason that we try Trust is time to ask yourself, to find the strength to ask   Questions free the answering, unbinding them our task Faith is time spent wondering, what we're meant to find   Imagine it's your purpose, adventure by design Belief is time to listen, but who has time for that?   Especially when the answers, knock expectations flat I for one am sick and tired, of cowing in disgrace   Tells me it's impossible, my time will be erased Says be realistic, accept my human's place   Still sensing time to listen, it's time I should replace That grown-up pain in mirror, with one that he displaced   Clean out all this common sense, what's left I will embrace "Don't dare challenge common sense!" is man's reflexive chant   Nothing I can say or do, unraveling the rant Unless, perchance, to find the time, to listen wondering   How'd we learn this same ol' song? No rock in what we sing Some gold might have fools in us, check iron in the pyre   Sense, should give us more not less, in common with God's choir Much as I would like to stop, mote's finger in your eye   Yes, I know, it looks like mine, I know the reason why "Who's on first!" A fan exclaims, "I'm tryin' to watch the game   And turn that stupid music down, it always sounds the same" Thank God for little miracles, someone's tuned us out or in   The endings will come later, for now let's just begin So be good sporting metaphors, or catch me if you can   See the third-based coach's box? Now there's our biggest fan An artist in disguising, obscure as obvious   Signs are scented in the breeze, from there to me to us It's all so very simple, without a relay man   If you follow where this leads, help me to understand If aiming not mislead you, to find the place to look   This site's not judge or jury, it's me that I mistook Connections between children, and grown-up pointed views   Scattered seeds I make believe, the Gardener can use Cross pollinated words grown here, with words grown over there   Contrast can electrify, hot seated in high chair Don't think it's a sacrifice, my goal is not to die   But hunters need a season, and quarry to apprise I know contact's disturbing, it's not my aim to taunt   It feels so disrespectful, to give them what they want I'd say I hate to do this, but all I've got is love   For you there in the mirror, come out to fox this dove Three