The ants go on as they do each day,
Marching past the green grass and the rocks.
They stay in line and step in time,
Like the hands of the grandfather clocks.

Every day they travel in this manner,
But why do they all choose to march this way?
This is because of the rest of the bunch;
What ever would they say?

If one were to walk to their own tune
Unlike the others who stay in line,
Many would speak about the brave little ant
Saying, “Oh, he isn’t a friend of mine”.

Even if the lone ant was marching along
And the tune he walked to was truly the best.
Still he wouldn’t be praised by anyone else
Because it wasn’t the same as the rest.

Must we all march together, stepping in time?
Is changing really the worst thing to do?
But the one who doesn’t stay in line,
Is the one who is stepped on by the shoe.