Worthless, worthless, says the preacher
Self-important, self-taught teacher
Worthless, worthless, says the buyer
Yet your price was never higher
You get it cheap, and start to boast
And then leave nothing for the host
But emperors are like their clothes
Their what and whether no-one knows
You take their treasure in your hand
And feel your fist is full of sand
You search for some security
See things become, but never be
Why seek to run a perfect race,
If past the sun is only space?
Would you rather face the end?
Or live to chase the wind?