The scarab sits atop its collected sphere Wielding its mental sextant It chases the sun And it gives its life direction
Man sits atop the same How we yearn for unreachable ideals The gold of perfection Ra, the sun
So scarab we aren't much different We spend our lives with eyes fixed on the past Blind to the future We roll our cherished ***** into so many obstacles Purely out of our condition Strike the baring rock and become lost.
We climb back up on our ball To find our golden god And continue as if before Our endless journey to find Tum