It may be wrong to do what’s right
When what’s right is always wrong
And what’s wrong is always rightfully thought
By the thinkers of the right
But you think what’s not thought
By the thinkers when they think their thoughts
So the further realm of probability is where you set your sights
You see the immoral critters creep carelessly
And it’s delightfully distressing
To see prophecy so clear and near as the world keeps digressing
It’s amazing they can’t see it when it’s piercing in their skin
We laugh at their stupidity and cry about their sin
Up the path to twisted hunching trees
Outreach your branches and you wink at me
When the breeze flows through your leafs
What kind of secrets do they leave?