How hard the little people think
Not based on any fed lies
But on sweet wrappings out in time
Like how the spoon
Mixes the mixture in a bowl
Their thoughts fold and unfold
Somewhere in the years of work
They hope for a seed of truth
But there is only magic
There is only disappointment
How hard the little people think
In their heads of stone
And with their hearts like broken eggs
Believing that the heat of death causes changes
They approach eternity like fossils
How easily they crack under the hammer
How easily their lives become rubble
How hard the little people think
With nowhere to go
Without the air to breath
They consume the poison
In the sweat of the faces
Of the men of the carnival
Carrying Baal to the furnace
What must it be like to think
Over and over again
The same broken thoughts
In the same embryonic cave
Cut off from the river
That stays in the mountains
Circling in the valleys
In a belief of freedom
