I have talked with the figure whom everything sees
It was a foggy day, about twenty-five degrees
It appeared to me there in the tv of my head
An elaborate colorfull swirling, empty and dead
It summed up it’s message in a word so familiar
A waterwheel with holes. Our planet ‘s atmosphere
A powerful theology, one we’ve seem to have missed
But to say it is wrong, is to prove that it exists