It’s all a fantasy program.
How are we localized here?
This stays.
It comes and goes
in the realms of sleep.
We are in a huge tin can,
and escape is impossible
if you follow the seams.

We don’t even know we’re in here.
A big accident gluttons our text
eating up forever.
This is existence proper,
with hot sauce.
This is existence on earth,
and we suffer here.

How is it done?
How are we fooled so early?
Not as sick as existence proper.
We last a long time
in our menageries.
The fairy roads to existence
startle all of us.
It’s all a sparks’ weaving fairy dance
putting circumstance in place
the settled fact.

It’s a picture show to tell you the truth.
Now where is that projector,
and is it being filmed as we speak?
Something’s funny goin’ on.
Can you find existence in there?
Can you even get at it?

It’s a big story-house in space
that we can’t find the light of,
and we are trapped in our rooms
of single seeing.
Better men then me have pulled these cords,
but this is my poet’s worth,
but these are my poet wings.

Where does it all lead to and why?
Do we even find out at the end of the movie?
I can take you farther than Earth
in the rounds of Earth,
and I can show you time in a bottle.
You would not believe who we are outside
where we imagine the universe.
It’s the secret of the ages,
and we carry its wind in our sails
comin’ back to itself.

What prolongs the long game,
and what makes us suffer so?
Can I tell yah?
I just did.
The tell-tales of existence,
I’m there.
I’m in the picture show with you.
Can you guys see that?