I filled pages and pages and with the musings of sages, then the rantings of rages, followed by the discoveries of mages, all the while wondering, will I collect wages
for this work?
The prophet is never loved in her homeland, the prophet is never loved in her homeland, the prophet is never loved
Pools of tears, they degraded, years and years, the hold of fears, its cries too long filled my ears, when at last
I just stopped caring.
Freedom is the only thing I’ve felt. Freedom is the only thing I’ve sought. Freedom is the only thing worth being free
Because without Love, what’s good with being?
Pages and pages, years and years, for all’s I know more years in my rear view than ahead, and that’s what’s up with having a
The prophets have long passed. Messages built for time, they never last, for humanity is too quick to clasp on to what
no longer serves.
This cycle can go on, for only so long, before this Flesh gone, so Light up before it’s too long, Light up before it’s too long, Light up before the Soul moves