Iced

On the skating rink of the mind,

Grooves get deeper with every pass.

Blunt blades slice fragile ice,

On the cold circus stage of

Two-legged, dumb, white mice.

Round and round we fly,

Through time, through space,

Doing lap after lap for treats,

Wondering if God is in the house, 

Watching us from his high seat.

Blinded by the lights, the thrill,

We go, gliding toward undefined goals.

We do a lutz, a loop, a twist, a twizzle,

Till the music stops, the lights go dark,

And out we fizzle.