The world goes round in circles, imitating the heavenly dance;
While the mortals are fazed and blinded by their Ego's trance;
From the sky the cosmos are ever stealing a glance;
Just smiling at our futile efforts and our stupid plans.
Incomplete is the work of Universal Art, longing to be filled;
Not every colour fits the frame seldom too dull or too thrilled;
Time controls perfection otherwise all melodies are shrilled;
And the beast of fortune is caged, just waiting to be killed.
Time grows out of space and space out of time;
I used to wander both, but now bounded by my crime;
Those who stray not lost, but are the souls sublime;
Trying to know the secret of the Universe and its secret chime.
And so like the accidental ray of light falling in the dark shade;
Going illuminating the apparent corners of the enormous facade;
Like a fierce arrow aiming at a precise goal it never laid;
Blame me not, for I was born into a world I never made.
