The Beacon

Oh brother tell me please Have we gone, wrong Did our trails split And have they been for long? My back it hurts like hell Not really feeling well Like under some strange spell I am Not really sure if I can trust my sense of sight nor smell Ahead a distant gleam A golden sparkling stream Oh brother tell me please is this the right way Or is my spirit dreadfully astray Your voice turning faint Your words becoming quaint As the shadows grow tall Enveloping your call Ahead a distant gleam A golden sparkling stream Beckon sore feet, Like moths we follow Like moths we follow Like moths we follow Like moths we follow Like moths we follow A golden sparkling stream Beckon sore feet, Like moths we follow A guiding light through the night Beckon sore feet, Like moths we follow Into an all engulfing omnivorous fire Circled by shades all eager to be set alight Chanting in frantic pulse tarnished souls aspire To make their way into the light Their transcendend right Shadows growing longer The air becoming thick Miasma growing stronger They are torching books It smells like flesh But they have words To make it stink less All worn and tossed out like a cheap dress All worn and tucked into the Like moths we follow Like moths we follow Like moths we follow Like moths we follow A golden sparkling stream Beckon sore feet, Like moths we follow A guiding light through the night Beckon sore feet, Like moths we follow I'd sell you all if I could But you're worth... nothing.