The line on the sand
A scar on the flat surface
A wound from a knife

Temptingly perfect
The idealist’s barrier
Asking to be crossed

Begging to be crossed
Whispering dark promises
Of god, glory, gold

Seductively calling
“Step across my idealist
There will be reward.”

And the cry goes
Unignored by cur’ous ear
That quickly slips pass

So willingly to
Forget the line they, themselves
Drew not to be toucheded

Then they hide the line
Filling it with their morals
All to prevent shame

they draw a new line
On the morality plain
The old forgotten

This new scratch is soon
Crossed as swiftly as the last.
More soul left behind

Until there’s nothing
Just a dark spot in shadows
On the moon’s dark side