Great cosmic cycles make a mockery of our lives
Pinning black dust to the night sky where once there was light
We look to the stars then back down at our feet
Hermes The Thrice Great wrote this celestial script
It roils and it roars deep within our core soul
Yet we cannot discern what our own blueprint means
It is lost, overwhelmed by the chatter of man
Not a voice, a harmonic but the digital screams
Of a planet in anguish as she enters our dreams
Are we so lost to hope that we can't see the truth?
Meaningless trade and still governed by fools
Who appease us with trinkets and fire water haze
Right here in the United States of Reservation
Locked in the frequency of fear
Where we'll remain
Until we feel the stars in our hearts
See the sky in our eyes
And understand we exist in a handful of sand...
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