You ask why these words, are all stories of my days,
Never seeming to look around, at the World and all it's ways,
Yet this plan you say is yours, leaves only one road to take,
But each must find his own, for something's got to break.
Take a look around, and see what's happening,
Take a look around, can't you see what's happening?
And how can I curse someone else's distant war,
Until I find my own peace, and anger is no more,
How can I cry for the hungry, and scorn the other's greed,
until I eat nothing, but the little I really need.
This future you say is near, leaves nothing much to find,
But the moment holds enough, without living on borrowed time,
So now that I have told you, are my reasons all that clear?
For the words my tongue has spoken, are not the words you hear.
