Skipped along like a stone that can't swim
My line takes a line that can't curve
Flatland is my reality and I can't three dimension
Verb my timbers and repeat this phrase:
Skipped along like a stone that can't swim
The chorus is an actor on an acute stage
Praying fire hands won't imply god to anymore
As this atheist doesn't know
But won't stoop and pick up an agnostic step
That refrain re-pains a hand that won't go
Left or right or
Skipped along like a stone that can't swim
Another unknown, in a hurry, acted out of
Mall malice, stored in consumption and fallacious
Syllabic assumptions driven sad by the
Modern world's music, beyond post-modern
And literature won't follow until we're
Skipped along like a stone that can't swim
Roman Ryan 