A lone melody escapes from the depths of darkness, The earth lies slain, the wind’s pulse heartless. Grand regiments of light march on unceasingly, But bow to the Majesty of Perception increasingly. A chorus builds hurriedly in harmonic dissonance, Green trembles shyly to pale blue's impudence. Now all wait on edge for a glimpse of his highness, And when his red guards rush forth, finally he rises.
My friends keep my "Wanted" sign, sentiment changed, Secured in a gold frame, well-inked and still stained. As I roll back into town, I hear their friendly salutations, Like free air between iron bars of friendly allegations. I'll drink what I'm given, in the seat they saved for me, They skim over my travels to coax out an old story. And when they hear it they'll groan "he'll never change", My visage darkened to them, backlit by that frame.
There’s a Standard of Justice our Creator has made, But we all fall short of it, to some degree every day. These violations stack quickly and are never resolved, Until Judgment Day comes and we’ll pay with our soul. But there’s a Gift of Mercy our Creator has planned, He’ll write-off your violations before you take the stand, His Son will pay your judgment so that Justice is sated, And so that you may return to the Standard He created.
The womb of the earth awaits those who sleep, Pulling us into recesses of our deserved keep. Enveloped by darkness or tormented with shame, Or resting in great peace with those of good name. But once there we can't leave in any direction, As chasms and angels serve as the protection. And there we'll all wait until time's at its end, To be spat out corrupted or gloriously born again.
Why's it so easy to do evil? Even idleness succeeds, Like a tilled land left alone is overruled by weeds. And as an open house is soon infested with insects, So an open home is soon bested as jealousy infects. Lies chase our first words, like a lion to his prey, Purity yields to pollution, like the stream on its way. This school of darkness we’re in has no teachers or lessons, Just graduated students who are refused a convalescence.
A one-time event, never to be repeated, 'til day is far spent or their light is depleted. Blown in the blue canvas, spreading a story, Consuming the sun or shied by its glory. Practically still from wherever they departed, Trails, islands and whole worlds left uncharted. And who can behold them with ambivalence? The daily wonders of heaven's magnificence.
Though I want to be selfless and plan to do good, Though I try to be obedient in every way that I should, He causes me to forget or feeds me excuses, And talks of my weakness until I feel useless. Though I need to walk righteously and live just and holy, Though I crave for my mind to be filled with good only, He distracts me with follies and vain temptations, And praises my pride and my earthly sensations.
Though I want to be comforted and plan to live quiet, Though I try to obey my needs whenever they’re desired, He forces me to stop...
The root of a tree supports its skyward branches, Knowing not of the wind or how sunshine answers. It refuses to budge, creeps without contrition, Assuming its survival is the proof of nutrition. Its crooked network is deep, entwined beyond reason, That’s the way it is and will be, regardless of season. Cut down its whole tree, you still won't hear it plead! All that's left is its death or rebirth through a seed...