I don't know
  
i eat the food of the soft and hard work
no time is left for a god to appear
cross the river and find a path that's worth
a life of effort all live with the fear

of not existing in the mind of self
and what we call god is a band aid that
is better than nothing as we bleed out
our life upon a tabula raza

which is true yet malleable so now
we walk and talk the walking dead maybe
not a word is true that's thought softly in
a moment of real yell's and we follow

as slaves to the inner tune unheard that
can be peaceful if we try i don't know