| As soon as we held sceince key
|
| Our thinking became infected
|
| We tried to reclaim to cronian sea
|
| Like infinitely wise we acted
|
| But the sea conquered our toil
|
| Still we knew it all
|
| With egos firm as frozen soil
|
| Our mastery began the poles fall
|
| Like a dying season we fell asleep
|
| Our sensibility desisted to grow
|
| The pit of stupudity seems ocean deep
|
| As we still bury our heads in the snow
|
| We have to handle preparation before we summon erudition
|
| Otherwise wthe world’s like glaze
|
| Transparent, but a slippery derision
|
| That covers the earthly maze
|
| And we’re lost in haze
|
| Alarm! |
| Alert! |
| Wake up from your (un)conscious
|
| Adjust your soul to this colure’s frequency
|
| We need a cessation of failing nunscious
|
| And hibernation is a way to consult modesty
|
| As the barren lands becomes grime
|
| The biomes suffer by our torment
|
| Cause we are insulated by time
|
| Result: awake but dormant
|
| Like a dying season we fell asleep
|
| Our sensibility desisted to grow
|
| The pit of stupudity seems ocean deep
|
| As we still bury our heads in the snow
|
| We need maturation of our capacity
|
| Hibernation is a way to consult modesty |