Fables spread like some disease
New age gods like old facades
Write a book
You'll like the odds
Inventing gods
Old facades
Take apart human heart you will start
Through the doorway of all your sorrows
Beginning to pull you away
In the night the sometimes light
The seasons which run out of time
When I press this game of chess
I always end with something less
You've made a mess
Of your Sunday best
In search of the answers, what never should be
Laughter erupts from primordial sea
Standing there naked with bended knee
All of your works face eternity
So though I play the same each day
When faced with pain I often pray
Take my hand you'll understand
The place we go is no-mans land
