The Potter and the Clay

When I'm a tired puppet, strung out on every string And hungry for adventure or a note that's out of key When I'm called out of comfort to a land that's not my own Awoken from the slumber that has plagued my father's home I'm tempted to leave early, to abandon every post To stand above the valley of the lilies and dry bones But I must seek the balance and not forget my place The master and the servant, the potter and the clay When I'm a force of nature, when I am without strings And sifting through the idols of possibility When the dizziness of freedom has brought me to my knees Nauseous from the taste of what I have failed to be I'm tempted to find comfort in the lethargy of fate To throw off freedom's burden, to return to my old ways But I must seek the balance, though the paradox remains The sleeper and the dreamer, the potter and the clay When I'm part of the system that I swore off in my youth The one that fed and clothed me, the one that gave me proof When I'm crippled by resentment from my friends and foes alike And severed by the scissors of someone else's black and white I'm tempted to fall silent, to just pack my things and go To live outside the system or to start one of my own But I must seek the balance between sacred and profane The player and the playwright, the potter and the clay