Thereís a line through the picture,
a schism in the mind
between wildness and order,
city and country, nowó
we walk that line.
Thatís how meaning finds us in the woods,
as a deer leaps, warblers flit, either so much
going on all around or nothing, grayness or life,
depending on when and where you look.
The sun sets in the north, or the compass is askew
or we donít really know where we are anymore.
Change one detail and this world is a fiction
close one eye and youíll see what you want to see.
Will you? One of my eyes sees more red, the other more blue,
I have no idea which is closer to what is actually out there.
Each week the ascent is impossible to remember,
the tone of the trail totally new.
What else do you expect, really
as the earth unfolds, the petals scatter, the wind whips up,
there is no telling what will happen next.
Remember, then, remember it now
The world will never be the same again. 
|1||Ten years ago the machines failed us as no one was in charge.|
|2||The looming subsumes us from war to peace.|
|3||You remember the story (itís not yet over)|
|4||The voice of the wind,|
|5||Thereís an old swing set rusting in the woods.|
|6||Someone blew up the mountain|
|7||The old order is turned asunder|
|8||A bomb left a hole gaping at the street corner|
|9||The philosopher has returned to his homeland|
|10||You enter the room and the day is still sunny|
|12||What changes is the will to change|
|13||One song after another, not to impress,|
|14||If youíre driving long enough|
|15||This age of ours always hangs on|