Imagine, if you will with me,
10, 000 blind white sheep.
Who wander a tall and faceless hill,
In a mindless big gray heap.

Up and up the hill they trod.
Which we would think was rather odd.
For at the top their lies a cliff,
To which their senses can not whiff.

Their master has so long been gone,
That they just wander on and on.
Into dangers without their master,
These sheep are soon doomed to disaster.

And as we'd guessed, off the cliff they
Leapt into the darkness of the sky.
Their master mourns them from the heavens,
These sheep who wander in all direction.

But now you know just of the cliff,
Their fate was surely set.
But if YOU should wander on the hill,
The cliff you should not fret.