Keeping your sights, On the answers you had in mind, The patterns obtuse in movements you use, The path becomes itself No objects to guide, To needle to keep in line, Your practice is proved Only when it concludes, The output left to define There's something wilful inside you A convex gla** looking inwards You keep me locked in Trying to decipher, I am lost in The cutter's spiral Now There's something wilful inside you A convex gla** looking inwards You keep me locked in Trying to decipher, I am lost in The cutter's spiral Now