No Substitute

No Substitute: I still get quite confused In the thing that seems misplaced Perhaps for good or for ill Like a highway on a state map highlighted and traced Hoping for a substitute for when my machine doth cease to exist Hoping for a new spoil lute by another pen to yet list As ephraim sin is bound up like the sorrow of the woman in childbirth in travail I still get quite confused sitting on a fence with both ears to the ground As fat cats still talk to the thin cats around He no longer needs to suffer like such where in god all of such souls again are found I still get quite confused Still in bondage to attachment Finding in a part of me that I still hold dear and near