Blue-Crested Cry
We’re through, we’re through, we’re through, we’re through, we’re through
And – flanking, now, the edges of our schism –
It seems your coldness and my idealism
Alone for all this time have kept us true.
Credulous I and hedonistic you:
Opposed, refracting angles of a prism
Who challenged sense with childish skepticism –
And every known the bulk of mankind knew.
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