When it comes, but it has just changed its name
It’s virtually the same as yesterday
The two are joined as midnight strikes its chime
So really it’s all one. There is no time
Except as artificial names of things
Same for day, night, seasons, years, millennium
There’s no division except what we think
Inventing labels like with race and skins
Words simplify to get us through the ‘day’
And they can be used to apportion blame
It makes us happier with pretend meanings
But it’s all a result of going way
Back beyond the start, before all thinking
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