People are a remembrance of what truly ever was
Still bound to the performance of what they think actually is
The illusion they are presented is small tid bit of a mention
Of the world they are living in
The beginning of the end
That never truly has to
When you own up to your station
Bringing up a nation
Of everlasting love
The trees will whisper secrets
And pass them off to the doves
That before were once pigeons
Yet took on the test that was given
And turned their brown beak to black
Brought down the sack
Of glory that will rise
As long as you open up your eyes
Be humble in your demise
You will still rise to your kingdom

All that is left is your magnamous freedom