Cross the cosmos we're speeding;
We only wind up stampeding;
We tell the world that we're moving, but what we want
Is just to keep grooving.

 

We want satisfaction;
But we live by distraction;
The great destination slips away--
Instead desperation.

 

Each final turn reveals another,
And countless others lay ahead;
The map's unclear;
We're still right here;
Yet we're convinced 
That the promised end's so near

 

We live in confusion,
Avoiding conclusion;

Still seeking a meaning and never done;
We're stuck at BETWEENING.

 

Is there any end to all the spin-outs?
Can we arrive at all?
This treadmill run--
What can be done?
And yet we contend
That the blessed end's so near!