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