what is our high
what is our choice
what are the reasons
we have no voice
because of the things
or because of dear dad
or because of the conflicts
we too often have
well our reasons seem simple
and our reasons seem true
but more than too often
they’ll leave us so blue
this undying need
for glory and fame
has taught us sincerely
to play this game
yeah we’ll dance with our prophets
dance them real slow
say hello to the legends
before they all go
we’ll live like the gypsies
and blow like the wind
and dance with our prophets
till they let us in
when our eyes grow tired
and our desires grow weak
when our internal martyr
you know he’s begging for sleep
then we’ll reach for the heavens
and reach for the stars
we’ll reach for whatever
for we’ve traveled too far
now the words of the wise men
you they’ll dance on our tongues
while the white dove sheds tears
for what we’ve become
and our discarded children
whom we’ve left alone
no longer will cry
and now they’ll throw the stones