We spend our lives Bathing in chemical soup; How does Mother feel?

Trouble finds us all. Misfortune cannot be dodged. Karma seeks us out.

Words, what do they mean? Of time, mountains, and rivers Jon sings abstractly.

I've grown quite adept At preventing severe falls. Balance: my good friend.

Instrumental

Summers at the Lake: A teenage requirement. I seldom partook.

Is the really art? My muse cannot tell for sure; All the same to her.

Piltdown Man, a hoax? Don't buy it. He is alive In our midst today. Piltdown Man arrives In a black stretch limousine And grey flannel suit Piltdown Man survives (Anthropologists agree), Thwarts those who say "nay." Piltdown buys and sells…

Yesterday, today, Tomorrow, all illusions: Fractured bits of NOW.

Nothing matters more Than nothing, all adrift in A vast, endless void. A little ditty for the dark matter enthusiasts among you . . .

Time is relative. So, also, is space, says Al. Spacetime, your cousin. (Yep, you caught me--I said "time/space." It will be fixed.)

Instrumental

In fire or ice? How will the universe end? It ain't over yet!

Instrumental

A handmade go cart, Childhood prideful possession. No one to push me.

I am blooming late: Dreams from youth now realized. I suppose it's fate.

My groping hand shoved Away once more from delight-- Supple joys denied.

Sunlight streaming down, Gentle breeze disturbs new leaves, Spring's awakenings.

Roasting on one side, Freezing on the other side: The joy of campfires.

Derps march past my room; Ev'ry night they haunt my dreams, Dim fears seeming true.