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Since the start of the 17th century |
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There's been the scent of unseasoned wood burning in the air |
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And the conquest of nature meant nothing at all |
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While we betray exception we take all that is there |
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Motives are transcluent in the reflection of shame |
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The actions ghostly remnants of our ancestral ways |
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And unwittingly, you just take your place in this parade |
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The voracious march of godliness makes us all the same anyway |
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Since the dawn of our human family |
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There's been concentrated sepsis blowing in the breeze |
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And we turned on each other with ferocity |
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Desperation, forced, without reprieve |
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But the missions were misguided and the trammeled led astray |
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The air resounds with thunder as the victors seized the day |
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And the haunting voice of history lives ignored but not betrayed |
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The voracious march of godliness will get us close to heaven one day |
