Maybe if a man can't keep pace
With his companions
He's been placed in the wrong race
Marginal propaganda
He's been handed separate notations
Of scale and stanza
The rhythm that's in him is different
Intrinsic cadenza
He shuffles to his own drummer
Hums to his own strummer
Both feet in sync
Rumbling like thunder
Unheard to others
But the percussion echoes on
Out into the ether
The ethos of what they are
Don't squander the biology
Economy is the wrong growth
Ecology
The rose rises through hard stone
The roots underneath your boots
Fuse a connection to essence
The universe is in tune
All you need to is surrender
We undermined our guides
In the minds-eye
Find the life-line
In grand-scale time-line we're pint-sized.
To Be Frank: 