We know not what spurs our habits,
Our compulsions, our drives.
Most thought hides; we are but abbots,
Stewards of sacred hives;
Served by legions of selfless monks,
Who follow a scripture
Written by idiots and drunks.
The mind is a picture.
We know not what spurs our habits,
Our compulsions, our drives.
Most thought hides; we are but abbots,
Stewards of sacred hives;
Served by legions of selfless monks,
Who follow a scripture
Written by idiots and drunks.
The mind is a picture.
