Oil Is Organic

Fits and starts And
starts and fits The
world of arts Don't
count for shits

I wander blind From
place to place To
build the signs To
hide my face

I'm like the tree That
falls alone There
is no sound And
nary home

What's left to do Is
look and wait For
holy signs To
count as fate

For in the end We
matter none A
speck of dust I
ronic puns