When searching for the meaning of my thoughts,
I found a sturdy pedestal of sorts:
That solid fact of history
Yggdrasil in the Earth.

But the strangest echo came
From the miracle of birth.

And down the path behind
The common pattern wants to blur.

And from this evolution
Predictive thought emerged.

So in searching for the meaning of my thoughts,
I stood upon this pedestal, of course
I looked out into the future
And saw that I'm a fool.

Convention makes a man
Into a tool.

We see this is
The only thing we'd do,

But still we're something new
And it keeps us all in school.

When searching for the meaning of my thoughts,
I feel this strangest paradox arise.
I feel the itch inside my rolling eye.

The meaning of my thoughts--
Of course it wants to burst
I want to know what else
Is universed.