A symbol of predestination,
The guiding track of shiny rails...
A siding at a busy station,
Wet gravel, sleepers. Heads or tails?
Not much to choose. You pull the lever,
And change the tracks and go ahead.
It's not that choice is dumb or clever,
It's simply limited and sad.
You go on to live and function,
To think you are your own boss...
What's that again? Another junction,
Another silly coin to toss.