Do you ever wonder How things came to be? A curious question That never gets a clear answer Is paper really Made of trees? How are we Supposed to know? We don’t watch As paper is made We don’t wonder If we’ve been lied to Maybe it’s made of stone Pressed flat and thin Leeched of color Until it’s pale and fragile Maybe it’s made of plastic Made flimsily and breakable Straight perfect lines Of pale red and blue There’s no real way to know There’s no real way to tell the truth Maybe one day we’ll know Maybe someday soon
