The fact of the matter is
        We are jots
        Future fossils
And that is our splendor

We are embedded in limestone and slate
        In the giddiness of yellow daisies
        In redwood colossus and wild grass-blades
We ride the coattails of small histories
        To become endless saga
        The place where godhead dreams
We pound the shores of countless drinks
        In unrelenting swell after swell of redesign
And burst forth on the walls of Lascaux
Teaching destined masters to cross the line
        Proving the double helix --