The human brain is curious about its own existence, but not yet clever enough to get at the answers. Well, mine isn’t, anyway.
What on earth is the use of a brain
Which, whenever it tries to explain
What reality is,
Gets itself in a tizz?
Still, I s’pose I ought not to complain.
It’s stuck with the inputs it’s got:
Five senses, that’s all; not a lot.
Just touch, taste and smell,
Sight and hearing as well.
Oh, and memory, too – I forgot!
But they’re simply not nearly enough
To be able to handle such stuff
As “Can time ever stop?”
Or “Does space have a top?”
My brain cannot know – and that’s tough.
But it knows that admitting defeat
Wouldn’t help the poor thing to compete.
So, to keep me alive,
It tries hard to survive
With a world-view that’s quite incomplete.