I Still Believe The World Is Round

I still believe the world is round,
though it has caves that drop right down
to places dark, with slime and cold,
where souls alive begin to mold.
I still believe the world is round,
though I have heard the telltale sound
of wailing bird who's cry goes on,
yet never echos back the dawn.
Those nights when it is dark for days,
those days the nights and all their ways
have smash ground out my realest dreams
to fall right off an edge, it seems
that only someplace very flat
would ever answer up to that.
But even still, yes even here,
with no horizon very clear,
while scoffers doubt my mind is sound,
and whispered sympathies abound,
I still have hope it will be found
the world is still indeed quite round.
(I still believe the world is round;
I still believe the world is round.)