Sometimes, when we're near,
I see his future veer
From career to career:
One minute engineer,
Then leading-edge physician,
Or classical musician.
It's not a premonition,
Just typical condition
Of people without aims,
Who're tired of playing games;
Who're waiting for the flames
Of Love to call their names.

It's all structure, with hindsight,
(Our agency, our foresight
Illusions seen by starlight)
Formed earlier, in birthright
And way we were upbrought.
It's structure that we're taught;
In structure we were caught,
No matter how we fought;
We thought we could resist
But agency was mist,
From meagre shopping list
To lovers left unkissed.