what memory paints is never truly told
yet what we find are more than ghosts of care
since every sunset turned the green trees gold

we do our best to praise and not to scold
to bring about a time that is more fair
what memory paints is never truly told

there was less good in crazy days of old
when crudity and harshness were laid bare
since every sunset turned the green trees gold

we thought less then of hearts cruel and cold
ruling a world in fetters of despair
what memory paints is never truly told

but now the tale is starting to unfold
the outline's wholly visible out there
since every sunset turned the  green trees gold

there's no more talk of how much has been sold
nor or the price to put upon the air
what memory paints is never truly told
since every sunset turned the green trees gold

when the past does not fade and disappear
we're forced to confront it to face the pain
of solid memory to feel all again
within each mind something in the dull air
weighs down upon us with the weight of care
while every face reflects the groaning strain
and total terror that we can see plain
when nothing's left to mankind but raw fear
the once safe garden now becomes a cage
by our own efforts  for we are so dense
we cannot see the function of a wall
is to hold in not just to keep out rage
that justice functions better as defence
and isolation leads to the last fall

life is best measured by the hopes we burn
through those dead yesterdays none could forget
times when the fattest were the most sharp set
which ended we wished would never return
still this is what each of us pays to learn
from that hard teacher whom we name regret
the many ways that life is overset
and those lost gifts for which we will long yearn
so let the drum beat none of us will leave
without a turn upon the judgment seat
so we gain wisdom from the hard result
although our purpose was not to deceive
we're forced unto it by the long defeat
which strips us of all reasons to exult

the thing's the same once you've told the story
putting the planet into normal mode
you've won power but never truly glory

you know it all is just transitory
each of us goes a short way on the road
the thing's the same once you've told the story

whether the ending's peaceful or gory
each must arrive at the one sole abode
you've won power but never truly glory

of no import whether whig or tory
for you the process is in no way slowed
the thing's the same once you've told the story

only message here's memento mori
the human network down to one last node
you've won power but never truly glory

answer now in words that are not hoary
explaining how you cracked the final code
the things the same once you've told the story
you've won power but never truly glory

no echo now but in the dull grey light
see passing birds that pause and watch us feed
our satiated faces lacking need
or understanding in their urgent flight
of what exactly is the human plight
or when our hunger turns into stark greed
the passerine just seeks an errant seed
and a safe place where it can spend the night
the human does not show the passing bird
this truth of life that everything's the same
since all of us make up a single cast
we're subject each of us to one hard word
as players in the sole eternal game
each doomed to pass in time into the past

golden and warm in the december sun
this fading year will pass and be no more
we pause and take account of all that's done
since normal duty includes keeping score
what we must do is often clear and plain
to be repeated and done once again
our task unfinished this mild winter day
is not the simple message we convey
but something awesome born of nature's grace
seen not on mountain nor in ocean spray
the true redemption of the human race

we think we can escape that we can run
some massive distance from the starting door
and then be free but there's no means to shun
the things we are they're with us to the core
clear in the light and won't wash off in rain
that is the fact of our eternal stain
nor is there any word that we might say
to grant us ease nor even to delay
the fact of judgment the truth we must face
is not one we avoid in any way
the true redemption of the human race

the journey starts with us thinking it fun
but none believe that on the final shore
nor think of it in terms of lost and won
of those we love and those we now abhor
we speak of rivers that have found the main
of means by which we might a truth sustain
and understandings of the honest way
including moments that will never stay
but all that comes is part of the whole case
and from that knowledge no true soul will stray
the true redemption of the human race

prince none will wish our poor hopes to betray
and there's no unjust word that you could say
we have direction and we know our place
participants in nature's grand ballet
the true redemption of the human race

those who have vanished those gone up the spout
the scarperers last season's best reaping
were our last bulwark against fear or doubt

so total silence follows on the shout
clamping down ******* laughter and weeping
those who have vanished those gone up the spout

in teaching us just what to do without
and what exactly is worth safe-keeping
were our last bulwark against fear or doubt

but since they're gone we lack all redoubt
no place to which we can hurry creeping
those who have vanished those gone up the spout

simply precede us on the journey out
message and method both so sweeping
were our last bulwark against fear or doubt

now in the midst of this inhuman drought
we fade into the darkness while sleeping
those who have vanished those gone up the spout
were our last bulwark against fear or doubt