I ride forward
in a lulling, continuous motion,
up and down and up and down,
on my perfectly modeled horse,
Blackie
He stumbles time and again,
his toned muscles working
to keep up with the pace
of the blue-ribbon
But we are on a carousel
And Blackie will never turn around
to smooth out the bumps
on the perfectly straight horizon to perfection
I can never turn around
to take back my foolish words and actions
Blackie and I can only take a quick glance back All we can do is ride forward
into the fading distance
around the circle of time,
take a few quick glances back,
learn from our mistakes
and vow to do better next time
This is how we sing of it
it is called:
The Circle Game