I.D.S.T.

Shadows in your mind And it's so complicated That you can't recreate it Though you blow endless speech bubbles And load them with precious cargoes Freight from the unknown quarter Eight-tenths beneath the water Nailed point a spoken martyr Sails with the great armada And it won't be some ill-formed serif That kills the messenger if All but the punctuation's Lost in the loose translations Logical operators Stake out remote equators Square pegs of clumsy language Bread of the meaning sandwich This is the good ship run aground Repeat Repeat This is the good ship run aground Repeat Repeat