The puzzle can’t be solved,
If the pieces keep changing:
Morphing, transmuting,
Image rearranging.
But here I sit once more—
Every day, ‘tis so,
Silently contemplating
That which I can't know.
The answer is plain, simple,
Though not for you and me.
Because, in a funny way,
The Puzzle is Humanity...
I'll never solve this Puzzle,
It doesn’t work that way.
Far too many pieces,
Fashioned from wet clay.
We are the pieces, mud:
And you never can tell,
How they'll interact today:
But the game you must play.
Until the bell should bray,
And broken is the spell,
That animates the clay...
Frenetic Freak 