What really matters is well what really does?
Knew back in the good old days whenever that was
or maybe somewhere in the future's bright arc
we'll find the math at last, get out of the dark
There is an awful lot of pain and dismay
Things so bad I cannot face go on every day
I wish for money and for all fancy things
A maid to clean the mess up while I snatch for brass rings
What I was taught matters tells me it's a false path
But doesn't tell me how to want the road of less wrath
And I guess that I should clean whatever mess I can find
But it seems so very much more always stays left behind
what
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