And over all the land is a shadow,
Breathing and alive, but still invisible;
A tainted cloud, the lord of the flies
A silent, drifting miasma
That coils and creeps into every soul,
Then alters and spoils.
It shows in little ways,
In meanness and in petty spite,
In ignorance and cruelty.
A beaten child, a ruined river,
Desertion and betrayal;
Every heart a potential Judas,
Every soul willing to sell cheap.
The land is overlaid with discontent...
And yet, somehow, we still believe
A hero will come, a shining one,
And deliver us from this biting evil.
That Arthur and his Companions
Still sleep, unwaking, waiting
For the clarion call to save us,
That in our last hour of need
We’ll all be swept away and rescued
By some fabled Jesus and a last judgement.
And in this faith unspoken,
Unmentioned, a sort of hope,
We wait, and wait, and wait, and wait,
All unknowing, that the only heroes,
Are us.
Zeige deinen Freunden, dass dir Legend von Joolz gefällt:
Kommentare