He is the man I raise as scientific thought.
I am clothed in the laboratory of scientific analysis.
He is fanciful, calling me that bloke down the road.
Our committee meets to fight consistently.
Our company has low profit margins, and we howl.

He gathers himself up in multiple storeys.
Eyes are small windows that never blink.
Many of us gather as a call in doorways.
Heroism is climbing walls and bouncing.
Faith holds. He lauds the chosen.

He measures reason in floats of treason.
Morning's curtain rises in his casting.
Simplicity calls an army of industry.
Generations march to the flag.
We have trouble working this one out.

He is an architect of the highest building.
Architecture is counted in our bodies.
Clouds rain centuries.
Our response continues to be as best we can.
I accept he is the laboratory beyond science.

He writes history as a casual artifice.
He is judge of the worn and blameless.
We become greater startled filaments.
He shoulders arms for us all; he really does.
He says we can softly fly; briefly we try.