A man is walking through a valley
Without time or love or face
He wonders where his life is after
He has faded into space.
A man is given tightened quarters,
Hardly room for arms to spread,
He’s told to love and laugh and question
But falls from birth to his death bed.
With heavy lids and jaded mind
He is ordered his good sense to keep
While forced to do the work, – unwavering –
But given not the fruit he reaps.

And somewhere in a golden throne,
A tyrant smiles with rosy cheeks,
And snaps the whip upon man’s back,
And wonders why man stays so weak.

And man responds with gilded tongue,
Lips both parched from dusty air,
He praises empty, skyless wonders,
And looks for what was never there.