If you and I could make two piles of two kinds of stuff,
One that measured the ‘go’ and the other labelled ‘theory’ or ‘talking about it’ you know, that kind of guff,
The ‘go’ and ‘do’ would be dwarfed by the other,
The command to go suffocated by the clever theory smother,
As if we follow a looser who gave a great, grand suggestion, good intention, that wasn’t really news.
Enough of the excuses of not being my thing or cup of tea or, thank you, on this matter I have my own views,
The command you see is to go.
Yeah I know,
Yet it’s ok to say no, no
To the urgent majestic decree I am slow,
Even though the King aches so so so
Much for every one we are called to go, go, go, go. 

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