In a lost land,
of a long ago century
a particular writer had written down many cries for peace
How plain it must be only to the mind,
nothing stands on shifting earth.
While I run around organizing the turns of my life,
praying for the bells to go off at the instant of pain.
Modern society is hard as metal to the heart and spirit.
Fools gold, smoke and mirrors of that whole is nothing to the gold in what has been repaired