Because they’re still working on
The ears to hear them with
Does it ever occur to you
That we might be like pre-literates
Staring half-afraid at the books
We once knew how to write
The world tries so hard to hide
What’s really going on
To keep us from either looking down
Into the depths of the darkness
Or up into the heights
From which we came
Like the man stripped and beaten
And thrown by the wayside
We keep enacting
And the one who comes to his aid
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