What if the headlines were alphabet soup?
Could you spell your name then in the coup?
Believing all that you hear and see
Prevents you from developing your own philosophy
There’s a theory for this and for that
It’s best to keep it under your hat
But we’re all social creatures, I know
Whatever we reap then we sow
The venue of the splendid garden
Is rather dirty and muddy
I beg your pardon from the margin
So, are we going to make mud pies?
Or heal a blind one’s eye?
A wise man said to stop picking at your brother’s eye
And take the splinter out of your own
Was this piece of advice simply a loan?
Much of the specification, articulation, declaration, and clarification
Seems to be preventing unification
There’s so many choices within the voices
All this simplification makes me want to cry
Seems the tower of babble won’t stop
Candy bar I wanna chomp
It’s a bit of an outrage
That we’re never on the same page
But a bite of bitter sweet dark
Makes me happier than a lark!
Mud Pye (Mud Pies)