Who do you think leads us When we find it there at the top of the mountain The sky a sweating forcefield Defending an unknowable cannibal society from the rages of brutality No lifeguards here at the sidewalk hot dog stand No golf carts swerving in and out of lanes On a neighborhood parkway Our footsteps bend back with tension Where we face a collision course With a culture three short steps removed And left to warp and mutate in the lee of the stone Where sands of time blow sparingly To the pace of a sputtering tractor motor