Every year some artist makes changes.
Every time they do, we do.
In notes and lines and flags and mines,
game, with song, intertwines.

All times are strange, depending on your
perceptive needs and the range
of what we can bear before it bleeds.

The boldness of genes,
the whatever that means,
the finches, the flinches, flight or fight.
We'll never know who was truly right
about the meaning of it all.

The best part is we can choose,
the worst is that we must
or decay and rust
force us to lose.