Small Print
So much small print
Don’t know when, but
The story was bent
It was bent forward, bent backward,
Bent every which way
I hardly knew where to start
I kept reading, but the words
Made no sense, I kept listening
But the voices were no more than whistles to me
A melody with no meaning, as the small print
Got smaller, and the world got a little smaller,
Before it got all too big again