The Measure of Man

What decides the measure of a Man?
For what's his purpose?
He, from his family's nest they tore
To send him back once they've settled their score,
Though he suffers long after that awful war.
Oh, what decides the measure of man?

What is to be made of our Fathers?
For what is their purpose?
They keep us steady as we grow,
Then later behind locked doors them we throw,
Forgetting that our gilded paths were paved long ago.
Oh, what is to be made of our Fathers?

What is to be made of the Helpless?
For what's their purpose?
To pass him by and pay no mind,
He reaches out but you're ever blind,
Though to be hungry and mad is hardly a crime.
Oh, What is to be made of the Helpless.

What is to be made of Ourselves?
For what is our purpose?
To climb the ladders of possibility,
To earn our stripes and credibility,
But still to forget that our neighbour is yet our responsibility.
Oh, What is to be made of Ourselves?