What worse concession is there, than to smile at our daydreams?
If my prayers are a betrayal, who's the traitor, who's betrayed?
If it's just a flight of fancy, please don't leave me to my daydreams.
If I lose the mind I valued, will I wish my soul had stayed?

In the grand scheme, on the grand stage, in a world where I'm forgotten,
My convictions are of value, my delusions, maybe not.
Is it culture, God, or people that can't stand to be forgotten?
I don't want to be remembered for sweet dreams I soon forgot.

We're alone, at last, forever, is there meaning in the windstorms?
Are my questions well constructed, and what's more, should they be posed?
And I'll never find find the answer if I gaze into the windstorms.
Let books be put away for now, and open forums, closed.

Leave my questions to the gales and my delusions to the churches.
There's no place here for my lies, not those I hear or those I tell.
If I'm kneeling in infernos, pull me burning, from the churches.
Let me build until I blister. Wind and rain, or man and hell.