One could have a worse idol
However some are not so wise
Toy people, he says
Wound up and ignorant
Walking about and mucking up
The little, little images
The postage-stamp-motion-pictures
Don't they see?
Can't they see?
It must take a genius to walk about blindly
Which is why they all just stumble
But no matter; their staggering footfalls
Hold answers to which he must find questions
And the silly drunkards and incompetents
Ask the wrong questions for boring answers
Drown them all in the kin of Stradivarius
The singing quiets everything in the attic
That he may at last view the final stroke