the many ways we find to lose our time 
 our energy our zeal 
are better known as just the traits we need 
 to maybe heal 

we twist within the stilling wind 
 we ride to move our conscience 
we text to no one's memory 
 a pointless correspondence 

the up and down within ourselves 
 so usual so trite 
is all that strength can bring us now 
 the outcome of our might 

and you and i must face the facts 
 the world's a line of scrimmage 
and we are nothing now but names 
 and what might pass for image 

society's a drunken fool 
 in search of a companion 
and all the words we spend out here 
 an echo in the canyon 

so tell me once or tell me twice 
 the outcomes are coequal 
we're all the same old story 
 followed by the same old 

 sequel