Where our thoughts face snakes around
A hose that no one holds
Edges encroach on how wide it goes
We pin the edges down by building homes
And sitting thrones alone
Face the scope of what is found
And sold within the folds
A graph of axes raised from light and gold
One we choose to mine to fill our tomes
And what's untold will be disposed of
What's untold will be disposed of
What's untold we will dispose of
What's untold