sorry that religion has ceased to make its case
the louder that it shouts the more it becomes base
the sentries at the gates no longer bother giving chase
so sorry that religion has ceased to make its case
behind the masks of god was something to behold
it spoke of fields and space hidden in the folds
here was something in us all, of worth beyond all gold
behind the masks of god was something to behold
it's not that everything must pass, though surely it all must
spring will go, summer's next, autumn and then rust
the cycle that's the burning wheel, spinning into dust
it's not that everything must pass, though surely it all must
whither then the hidden self, of poetry and verse
as linked by heavy chains of dread and driven in a hearse
and boundless charm of ancient tales were stolen with a curse
whither then the hidden self, of poetry and verse
i know of something out of frame
something out of time
when you turn to look at it
you hear a music rhyme
it lives in dreams and corridors
it lives beyond compare
honor that this spirit lives
when you take in the air
sorry that religion has ceased to make its case
the louder that it shouts the more it becomes base
the sentries at the gates no longer bother giving chase
so sorry that religion has ceased to make its case
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