What’s right is right — and that’s what gets him pissed
About the iron world of right and wrong.
Inflexibility’s what he’d resist
If what was right were not so sure and strong.
He hates the way it hurries right along
And yet seems, in its way, to stand stone still.
He hates the clear notes of its endless song.
Its underlying silence makes him ill.
The spittle that it never has to spill
Spells horror in the tunnels of his ears.
Of what is right he’s clearly had his fill.
It’s the foundation of his gnawing fears.
Yet he can’t help but keep what’s right in sight.
Oh, how it twists his nerves! It isn’t right!