Once, a man, in ancient times, in four lined quatrains, he wrote some rhymes
The future is plain to me
Messiahs of paranoia, we watch and wait and see each self fulfilling prophecy
And it's... it's got to be... it's been foreseen... it's c'est la vie... for you and me
When them planets fell in line, sometime back in ninety nine
They cut and pasted every line to suit each event in time
Predicto-busters can't agree with the endless possibilities
Nostro-watchers blatantly put faith in blind faith policy
Hindsightedly... obvious to see lackadaisically... dead head we

Once, a man, in ancient times, in four lined quatrains, he wrote some rhymes
The future's plain to me
Messiahs of paranoia, we watch and wait and see each self fulfilling prophecy
And it's...algebraically... frustratingly... defeatingly... not for me... I'd rather we... changelings be
... or it's c'est la vie... for you and me