Cadence dance of boy-yard ring
tendency fought as rhythm sings.
Voice waves wash the sand
as time disappears from menial things.
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Lost now in the things we say
forgotten once this very day
as rhythms grow to twist around
encircled by the words to which we lay.
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Listen child come o-here now
rest and relax that mighty brow
for thought is far too hard to think
and freedom is what we allow
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Do you, more or less, by the thought?
Thinking is not what it ought.
No idea brought forth by you
has given you what you sought.
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So listen child to our care,
time is twisting through our air.
We control you ever now
sloth of will is our golden snare.
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Deeper, deeper now we go
sleeper sleeping to the throe
death be soon to follow
as death be reaped from what we grow.
as death be reaped from what you sow.