The mystic looked deep into her crystal ballDeep into the fogUnfolding its secrets Smiled at me and saidShe saw a laundromat;A wash and dry cycle, where everythingFamiliar would be removed andThe discomfort would come like Sleep to an exhausted wanderer. The crystal ball spoke again, And the mystic laughedAnd her jewelry laughed with herAnd the ball laughed with herAnd and time laughed with her as it passedSpinning like the hands on a clockAnd the clothes in the dryerAnd the tables that turned as the winter turnedTo sweet spring and heavy summer;Only to find myself again in that lonesome coldSitting in the oracle’s chairWondering how much time had passedFeeling clean and stripped and bleached and brand-new. She told me to look into the crystal ball - I think it was Waterford - and I watched my face grow old and newAnd saw scenes of change and seasons of loneliness and company, I saw the world flit between the forces of good and evil,And watched the ball slide from its rest on the tableAnd drop from far above the ground, Shattering like confetti across the new cracked earth.