We talk too much; We talk in circles
Till we’re all spinning round,
Reaching for rings on this merry-go-round.

The scenery spins; We call it progress,
But I’ve seen this all before;
When all’s said and done, we’ll wake up on the floor.

We set sail with no fixed star in sight.
We drive by braille and candlelight.

We’re building towers with no foundations,
Just stacking stone on stone.
Whatever it takes - mix our mortar with bones.

But [bad word] progress means matching the world to
The vision in our heads,
But we always change the vision instead.

We set sail with no fixed star in sight.
We drive by braille and candlelight.