Fluttering spaces between the lines
Tethered to a pen,
Connect a thought of what\'s left behind
When all\'s been said, in the end.
O\' Mighty Song, Mighty Song,
What is one to prove?
When all\'s been done;
When all\'s been seen,
When all\'s what, is who?
Antiquated motives twist and turn
Fabricating fabric woven
By what is harrowed, what is learned,
History tells of great deeds now sullen
As its image continues to burn.
Mighty Song, O\' Mighty Song,
In what verse should we recite?
Who\'s to say?
Who\'s to see?
When all that\'s known is a lie?
We lay awake while our cities sleep,
Wide-eyed, hopeful for more;
We reduce to ashes as children weep,
Wasting creation in its purest form.
O\' Song, Mighty Song,
What\'s there left to mention?
What\'s to be,
Who\'s to care?
When all our answers are questions?