There's people still dwelling on the mountain
There's people still dwelling on the past
There's people expecting something to come down
And the first are following the last

The prophet is standing on the corner
His pockets are empty yet full
The tide of the crowd rushes by him
And he feels its mighty pull

An old man lies dying in a desert
An old man lies dying alone
An old man is tempted by a devil
Who appears in a guise unknown

The children are playing in the garden
They're playing grow up to be
The children believe that real life happens later
But it goes on constantly

And Socrates sat week days by the roadside
And thought about all that he saw pass
And he knew too much to throw a stone
And he drank from the poisoned glass

Some men are orbiting the planet
Some men have walked upon the moon
But no man is certain of the future
Will the end be long corning or soon

And Johnny plants apples by the roadside
And Albert builds castles in the sky
And my son John has only one sock on
And only he knows the reason why

The writer is scribbling in a corner
The song is life itself
Love is a paranoid schizophrenic
While logic lies a vestige on the shelf

© 1982 by Judith E. Ficksman