The tracker abandoned the path And the way that is lost is forgotten But the halls are still tall And the lies are not math Because Earth will not center or flatten The universe more than an acorn And a tree with deep roots in my soul The truth can arise from no knowledge Routine forlorn to be born And we all lose control Search high and search low For the clues to a riddle unwritten Bow down to the ignorant bliss Like a shepherd with his lambs in tow To a cult personality, smitten No further than around the block Take me, and drop me off there I was born this morning, today With my feet in the muck And my hands in the air