There are those whose eyes are fixed skyward,
Tinfoil uniforms and men of learning both,
Seeing circular conspiracies among distant roman gods,
Metal anomalies in the atmosphere,
Strange lights peeking from behind lady lunar,
They see patterns and smoke in the cosmos,
Little green men dance upon their chests,
Authorities choking them in their sleep,
Are they mad to breathe such perceptions?
Do the stars perceive us in turn?
Whether it is paranoia or prudence,
I cannot decide,
But as the saying goes,
When you peer over long into the void,
It might just be peering back.
WorldofHarley 