The past is prologue.
As I descend into the deep
The honest fraud, claws at the back of my teeth
A wise man once said: "What is great in man, is he's a bridge and not an end."
How weary I am Of my good, and my bad.
If God is dead, can we still find some meaning in this?
We are more than an empty pattern, ripe with shame and decay
The Valley of the Sleepers, are drinking from a polluted stream
We are more than an empty pattern
We are more than shame and decay
Is the sky or the ground your captor?
Do you contemplate your destiny?
Is the sky or the ground the place that you're meant to be?
And if your heads in the clouds, what good could you be to me?
We are awake
These words, they won't fade away
They won't fade away
A clock without a craftsman
Hands spinning infinitely
Our gears will never grind to a halt or corrode away
We are more than an empty vessel walking a path of concrete
Let us work to create a flow state unhindered by the chains of belief
Morals are in the eyes of the beholder
Ground culture dictates every move you make
Every step you take their apparitions will beckon you
Don't follow suit
Wisdom exists in every truth they give
but in every lie there is a motive.
Is the sky or the ground the place that you're meant to be?
And if your heads in the clouds, what good could you be to me?
We are awake
These words, they won't fade away
They won't fade away
Unlearn to obey
A once calm pond is now a raging river
Shaping landscapes beyond
Forever changing seasons
In the years to come we hope to find a pattern
We can learn to love (We can learn to love)