THE FOUNTAIN OF CONFUSION

How strange: The places we were led.

The power of the word

Seemed nourished by the things we said

That weren't quite what we'd heard.

A Fountain of Confusion

Springs to life and starts to grow.

For words can only tell you things

That you already know.

I can hear the truth in your lying words

When I hear your lying voice.

For the cunning, there's complexities.

For the wise, the world is one.

All too soon, the Rex become wrecks, for these

Are the ways the vain have fun.

How strange: A seed so innocent.

The plant bears monstrous fruit.

Its shoots, our thoughts, are stretched and bent.

The point, of course, is moot.

The Fountain of Confusion lies

So cool, so deep, so clear.

Within its depths, there shines a prize,

But all who win stay here.

And the sick, they love their sickness.

How they clutch it to their breast.

For without it, they're just another face

And get lost among the rest.

While the teachers teach

The preachers preach

And the famous play at fame,

The haunted search for a dreamless sleep

Or a face without a name.

How strange: That it should come to this.

The dreams of power and glory

Grown dim with rust, lie, strewn with dust

At the ending of the story.

Seems a ceaseless, changeless wonder.

As it always was, as it always will,

As it seeks to suck you under.

Now, if you'd like, my friend,

I'll help you solve the Fountain's riddle.

"You've reached the journey's end

When you're exactly in the middle."