We talk too much
We talk in circles
Till we're all spinning around,
Reaching for rings,
On this marry-go-round

The scenery's spent
We call it progress
I've seen this all before
When all said is done,
Wake up on the floor

We set sail with no fixed star in sight
We drive by (braille?/brail?) in candle light

We're building towers, with no foundation
Just stacking stone on stone
Whatever it takes
Mix our mortar with (books?/bones?)

True progress means, matching the world to
The vision in our heads
We always change,
The vision instead

We set sail with no fixed star in sight
We drive by (braille?/brail?) in candle light