A finger touch is only a touch felt
the language of eyes speaks aye and nay
in the rhythm of happy discord
for heartbeats are silent voices unheard
the genuine will race a typhoon
to right a wrong and soothe fevered brows
still waters run deep for truths
but hounds only run and follow the trails
as the hunts master bugle blows
the pack only scent an invincible brown fox
herd mentality rules the gales
a prized golden eagle soars high in crestful grace
the valleys only see prideful
and the winds chimes and the pack bellows and yelp
and the Inn keeps brew ales and tales
and the one that should know you do the right thing
has lost nerves and senses long ago
and they all refuse to learn only the truth set the people free