In aimless quest, they stride aligned
A blinded horde, towards decline
Without the forte, to feel or see
I contemplate, deficiency

On sloping trails, their quest proceeds
To find at length, a way to see
They search above, they search beneath
I contemplate, deficiency

Holding hands, they stumble forth
A sightless pack, a search of 4
Lacking forte, they feel to see
I contemplate, deficiency

Bruised and torn, they stride ahead
Towards a fate, of certain death
They lead the way, for fools to be
I contemplate, deficiency