We're assured we are infinite

Though with mystic brevity

We think we may be endless

Through power, fame, longevity

Maybe in our wildest dreams

We must imagine our own infinity

As gently growing in grace and grandeur

Between beasthood and higher divinity

If we are made of things

That are made of things

Then things are made of us

That make up some thing

It's not we who first were made

Nor shall it end with us

For it is we who must go make

That which is made of us