And all these pips are kneeling
And praying to the ceiling
That this confused illusion
Will come without conclusion
They have been living in an apple
They have been living in a Sistine Chapel
They learn by clowning around
Fumbling to find the profound
But when this pips are planted
They take the light forgranted
They are inside of the infinite
They are inside of what is indefinite
There's this person out of sight
Who is working with the light
And he splits our every action
Into smaller cell fractions
And he puts them in a reel
So that we can touch and feel
And he rolls it round the sun
With his projectionist thumb
And he changes to the moon
When the sun is setting soon
And he has had to work forever
or they'll never be an ever
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