Gandering gooses,
Blank canvases with beaks that always seem to stare,
A chord hanging briefly, unrealised on their exhaled breath,
This dash of orange does sound alarms,
It plasters flashing tape out floating 'fore its face,
"Danger, danger,
I gander until I don't,
I gander until I won't,
But blast your ears the most,
With goosley chords from blaring horns."

Talking heads,
Utter crisp syllables,
In quest of articulated clarity,
A common desire for understanding,
And they walk the streets paved by similar wanderers from ages past,
Who too wished for understanding and knowledge,
Who too wished for truth and clarity,
O Great towering walls and deepest libraries,
Do you contain such lofty things?