So sayeth the Prophet:
In every freedom lies a prison
And in every prison lies freedom;
Though you struggle and strive under the sun
Your seeds won’t bear much fruit until you’re dead and gone;
The world is a wicked place, I know this
So you think won’t it be great if we lived in outer space;
No one knows where hate is borne, you see
That which you run from will always hunt you in your sleep.
Lo, the shroud over his face, still it leaves
Who knows the true death of history:
A gossamer on the One who once lived
Forever gone yet His footsteps walk this earth
He awaits us at world’s end.