Can we hover above the statue
Are we too ******, or set in stone
To tell, that we are burnt into looks and musculature
The veins pop out, and the looks change my mind like beatniks that are careful of their environs
Surrounds, and scurrilous people inept about the very soul of scrounging around in the stone age
We might live and die in tranced places, and I cannot place how do we grab a hold of our lives
When we are secretly living outside our creation
If we burn the trees and live on the oceans, we could be Aborigines in the land down under