Thursday, 4 April 2013

Quest

“Walk on, holy man 
Holy man in the crumbling land 
The blind man, with his feet in the sand 
And the skull of his father clutched in his hands…” 

I’ve walked each lonely mile 
With my face cast to the ground 
I see nobody else’s faces 
My truth cannot be found 

And in the hazy distance 
In the rippling sand 
The line of vultures on a cage of ribs 
None can still the Dark God’s hand 

Walk with me into the darkness 
Let me take you to the shadows and beyond 
Take my hand in your hand 
Try to understand 

The path to enlightenment is filled with the bones 
of the men who have tried before you, 
and died before you. 

And this holy pilgrim stands alone 
Alone in the sun 
Hears the voices of his father 
The race ends before it has begun 

He chases shadows like mirages 
Burned across his line of vision 
And curses those who set upon him 
And cast him aside with fear and derision 

Inside the man was once a child 
Torn between the truth and lies 
And as the son seeks the father 
The line between them obscures and dies 

Walk with me into your blindness 
Cast your fears like orbs of sand 
Take my hand in your hand 
Try to understand 

The path to enlightenment is barred by the stones 
of the men who have tried before you, 
and died before you. 

And now he knows there is no wise man 
There is only the pain of death 
Sadness, and in that sadness, madness 
Still the Dark God beckons: 

“Walk on, holy man 
Holy man in the crumbling land 
The blind man, with his feet in the sand 
And the jaw of his brother clutched in his hands…” 

And still he’s tempted to see the face of God 
To gaze upon that stony face 
As if it’s something he had forgot 
Or forsaken on his quest 

He was born to serve the Dark God 
The twisted master of the Devil 
In the shape of a Divine Father 
Chosen as the lesser of two evils 

And this apprentice stands alone 
Alone in the sun 
Hears the voices of his father 
The race ends before it has begun 

Walk with me into the shadows 
Let me fill you with their lies 
Take my hand in your hand 
Try to understand 

The path to enlightenment is filled with the bones 
of the men who have tried before you, 
and died before you. 

And he knows there is no wisdom 
In the fledgling mix of lies 
And his crumpled face lined with age 
Turns itself in anguish to curse the skies 

“Walk on, holy man 
Holy man in the crumbling land 
The blind man, with his feet in the sand 
And the fate of the world clutched in his hands…”