Panting haplessly inside a
dark tunnel,
A boy in shorts wants to
make it to the end
Before the punctual rail
engine breathes out fire,
Crushes him to his pyre.
Is it the star, down at
evening,
Generous and timid- its
red laser
Or the butcher train and
its burning yellow?
Frightened, he runs for
life towards the light-
For he was told light was
knowledge.
The science of
probability, common sense-
All pointed to the exit,
The exit welcoming- either
honest or satanic;
He'd never know which one,
Unless he reached there.
