Heads Spinning

Who is the man behind the apple?

I’m afraid it is a baffle.

We know not how, or when, or where.

Just that he is there.

Maybe he smokes cigars,

And owns twenty cars.

Maybe he counts his dollars

And argues with scholars.

A baffle indeed,

All apples supersede.

I live on a rock that floats in the sky.

Down below, people squabble and cry.

I watch and do nothing,

Accepting their suffering.

We take our notes and record their history,

Taking no sides and keeping the memory.

Centuries go by and by and by,

And never do we care to ask why.

I’m living a lie because

I live on a rock that floats in the sky.