What is this force that moulds our lives?
And weaves its worried schemes of strife,
in tapestries of greed and lust,
in hues of fear and self device;
Sings gentle tunes that lull our minds
into illusion's warm confines;
Tells us in our mother's voice,
tells us in our father's voice;
Tells us in our own sad voice,
disguised with hardness learned,
That we must be our own first choice,
and we deserve, for we have earned.

What judge is this that passes sentence,
regardless of our innocence?
Condemns us all to cells of falsehood,
bound in chains of irony,
Behind locked doors of paradox;
for we are free to turn the key.
Yet bound by fear of open doors,
and bound by fear of consequence,
So bound by fear, forever pause,
although the jailer sleeps;
Forever bound by self-made truths
which falsehood made and ignorance keeps.

Who is this monarch, dissolute,
perched on a chipped throne of guilt?
Declaring wars to turn all eyes
from a ruined empire once fresh built;
Upon a solid rock of faith,
unshakeable ideal and safe;
Fights to save stale plots and schemes,
and kills to please a child who screams;
But never learns the peace which solves,
where wars repeat The need for wars,
so we fight within, while conscience weeps.

Who are these light-souls living here,
these heros of the universe?
Crossing misty doubt-filled oceans
in leaky boats of hope and faith
To seek a birthright, there for all
who dare to stray from pathways safe;
Searching for a flower rare
whose fragrance speaks of love and grace;
To bear it home to cure the ills
of conflicts long since past,
And so with soothing, healing touch
to reconcile, and loose the tyrant's grip at last.