This world and I, we live in
a map; all else is given
names that were to learn alone
impossible, but all known,
answers there for the asking;
no longer is the tasking
to search but now e’er to find
what first by some other mind
thought perhaps some age ago
when it didn’t matter, so
it was another reason
they struggled every evening.
What still remains now? Only
data for a man which he
forgets with booze, for he knows
this was not the life he chose,
but the machine must be manned;
how else to rely on plans
so the future we too see
a better place, so we be
careful with the paperwork
but if dangers really lurked
I think we would sleep the same,
wake each day a touch more sane,
and maybe the paths are safe
but there’s one thing we are chased
by: memories and tales told
of mysteries left unsolved.