All the voices, incessant chatter. Minds on the prowl, selling.
The sets, amazing, the actors, genius. The stories wrung out from the telling.
Bravo to the ants, climbing their hills, unaware of the future, the past.
We live as they do, running mad in pursuit, knowing nothing we build can last.
Yet still, we stand, we talk, we run, and pray from her solid ground.
Reverberant tones building out from our bones, as we spiral around and around.
