Clear

All I have is an image
A certain amount of imagination
To keep me warm
All I have is this picture
Buried deep in my head
Of how the world shouldn't be round
As I have no skin to make me sin
As I have no cult to make me lost
As I have nothing to destroy
This is overtly useless
And I'm terribly vain

It was all a clear idea
A few millenia ago
It was all simple
As simple can be
But someone made a mess
And maybe it was me
And it cost dearly
To the roundness of the world
It was all ABC
It is now a memory
Vultures circle above me
And I try to rest
Knowing that sometime, somewhere
Everything will be alright again
Only to go back to what I have already seen