journey over there's a proper place
where we know just what we've come to find
our eyes are open but our heads are blind
still this is a thorough occupation of space
we aren't sure what old lines we'll trace
the journey's always to the growing mind
each answer's honest though not always kind
the truth is not revealed in every face
and so we come and this is our position
wisdom's not learned but we may it acquire
until we face the one last open gate
there's room for folk of any disposition
players upon the lute or even the lyre
who know just what it is to beguile fate
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