[Ventriloquist and dummy, alternating lines]
Is obscurity itself the test tubes of tomorrow?
Or is just the testing done to pave the way of sorrow?

Is the chalice set upon the table for the bride of primadonnas?
Or can indeed the world be freed by finger popping mommas?

Is the confusion of immorality little more than a doubt on a face of infinity?
Or does indeed immorality feed upon itself and hence hasten to speed its own immortal conclusion?

Is the scent of melting tin upon the tracks of time the mere excuse for letting loose the calling cards of crime?
Or is this verbose verbosity that very violation?

[Willie]
Does not the babbling brook run its way to oceans and streams, only to dry up and rain once more