Oh, how the brave do fall, when the furls of power sprawl to cover all.

Simple joys of life unbound scatter along the sullied ground, there to be              unfound and kicked around.

Oh how their beauties fade, when never have they paid for that which made the lives in which they parade.

The toils of love can never rise above the pride that has never seen the shove of a painful rebuff.

How do we repair this harmful error, when so long it finds its heir both here and there?

Never can they change to lives full of range that they find strange, and relax in its fangs.

So glory to the just, who shutter from the dust, exactly as they must, to find the things they distrust and move in spite of these painful thrusts.

It is these pains which goad us on, in these we find our song to move along and trust that which breaks the bonds to these drugs we’re on.

So, I tell you now, find how this world tries to tie you down, then break the walls which crowd until they lay on the ground,

And in this you shall be free, to live the life which you see and find your eternity in all that comes to be.