M.C. Escher, Progress
To the beat of the drum.
Heads held high, noses in the air.
All this marching,
All this walking,
But where have we gone?
What have we done?
Walked and walked
Until the steps were worn smooth?
Our shoes have fallen apart.
The soles of our feet blistered,
Callused by the constant tread.
To nowhere at all.
We've made none,
But we're content with marching to the beat of the drum.