A lip reader has time on his hands
And because my lips are sealed
He paces about in frustration
Because nothing will be revealed
A guru is giving nothing away
He leaves it up to his pupil to guess
And like Gurdjieff and Oliver Hardy
He leaves us all in another nice mess
What is true remains unknowable
Inscrutable and opaque
So we settle for consensus reality
With the suspicion that it all could be fake