Before staring at rocks, there was staring at fallen trees
Before fallen trees, there was sport and game
And much before that, there must have been something
To help us keep our lives wasting away

Staring at rocks, day in, day out
Nobody cries. Nobody questions
Why staring at rocks is a good way to live.
There's no good way to live, suppose that's the lesson.

Lessen and lessen until it's no more,
Or so it seems, with what we feel.
What we produce by staring at rocks,
Some fleeting pleasure, some placating meal.

Is it a big deal? Or is it not?
Shall we stare on as rocks evolve?
As the rocks evolve, will we just stop?
Will they grow on and we, grow not?

Is the rock a form of communication?
Is the rock the epitome of what we make?
What we do? What we value?
What we love? What we save?

Where's the glory? Where's the love?
What's between a bunch of rocks and I?
Where's the moment when I'll love rocks
And not hold tears back in my eyes?

Never dying, never criticizing,
Never complaining, always obedient
Manipulated entertainers,
No wonder rocks, that's where we went

Will it stop? Luddites united?
Or are the rocks the newest wheel?
They give us so much to know and process
But rocks, from you, I'll never feel