Clinging desperatly to the driftwood timbers...ruins of a temple long destroyed ...built and rebuilt from the ruins... imagining the sky beneath a giant hand... the ship wrecked pilgrims with solitary hands reaching out under the fog for solidarity...clinging to ancient myths... binding themselves together under the solemn observance of the past... prostrating themselves before the graven images of their fore fathers... clinging desparatly to thier ideals and convictions, nostalgic for the past and fearful of the future... they are blinded for straining to see a god beyond the sun... lost in a sea of illusion.. waiting for the sky to part... and fighting for the promised land.
we've all been ripped off, robbed and lied to... Everybody's gotta story to tell... but in the end its you my friend... that chooses your own hell.
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