we make plans the break plans
do we give up ?
it all depends upon the creature or the creator
there are those drifing in a sea of the make believe
lost in the sauce of compromise
can't we see past those twisted lies
they are blinded by sight
you may claim that is your right
still at the funeral parlor you will then discover
there isn't a uhaul that follows its procession
you got me second guessing
the opposite of faith is sight
getting lost in the night
with long hanging fangs that bite
shadows block your squeeky wheel
claiming its no bid deal
getting stuck as second fiddle in the middle
they can't help you cause they can't help themselves
perhaps you want to put that book right back on the shelf
so you exist as a vain Keebler elf
Satan has blinded you from the real trip
I equate it as being left on the raft near the shore
all of a sudden the tide breaks out and your out in the ocean
Satan brands his lies with a real dark brew of magic lotion
then you realize how to i get here
it was your choice to live by sight
in the end who will be your friend the one whom you can depend