With clouded eye they paint the world
Interpreting what they can't really see
and all the words they leave behind
are an indelible mark on you and me

How do we break what we cannot unlatch?
How do we find what's buried so deep?
Where's the itch from we constantly scratch?
and where's the real you and I we seek?

Are we all just copies of the prevailing wind?
Is this the reason we must always debate?
How did this chain of tired ideas begin?
Can we ever hope to have a clean slate?