My eyes are not my property;
They’re not mine to control.
They build massive earthen towers
Out of pebbles set by moles.

They judge without a jury,
Follow no established laws,
They wander and decide alone
With no apparent cause.

There is no brain inside my eyes;
In fact, they’re disconnected.
They shy away from “ugly” things
And long for things perfected.

But perfect is as perfect does,
And that’s nothing whatsoever—
Because the only place our perfect lives
Is a place that we call Never.