Words are not in the room;
Noise is in the room.
All meaning is in the shape of the room
Whose curved wall leads us back to what we once were.
That's to say; what we were before crying,
The creation of self and of lying,
And the shrill, pathological my-ing
That became what most of us is.
So, it's back to pre-blah-blah
And wondering who we are,
And whether it'll be far
To what we will be.