the cattle are lowing

in rain and mist we leave cows to the grass
and hide our faces in the profane word
that we make sacred by our own absurd
sense and desire what is seen through the glass
now becomes what we name the lower class
but in this weather all our sight is blurred
and the full truth has not yet been conferred
so all that we can say is what the raas
give us a voice and we deny the sight
but what true explanation fills this need
unless we can receive the better fire
we need to have things locked up before night
set up the barriers that have been decreed
and have no time to tune the fucking lyre