Our minds, our dreams they built a noise;
The men that played with little toys;
The houses, castles of muddy boys;
Towering now they could empower all;
We scream and **** and hunt through malls;
We stamp the weeds through cracks, in awe;
Driving fast to make the trains;
It's those before that take us home;
Past the blocks of all the mighty;
Past the seas and trees that bow;
We end up back to wood and stone;
When they kick us off our thrones;
We let go of a force that needs us;
A swelling pride that really sits beneath;
We sheath our swords our pens our teachings;
Their silence cuts our crowns to pieces;
A meditation on the propensity of the contemporary human being, specifically men to march progressive values over tradition. The principle metaphor being nature, representing the timeless and much more ancient source of value and responsibilities humans should intuitively feel but seem reluctant to confront.
Thus the swelling pride actually comes from the immense pride we subconsciously have for the human project thus far, 130 000 years of basi9c human existing with its traditional family units. and its humble but established origin, not the fast paced castles and toys and malls that we think we derive values and empwerement from.
Men march through life stamping in the weeds of that ethic that goes just noticed underfoot, one human lifetime is not enough to fully appreciate the swords and books and values our ancestors developed over thousands of years so much so that we evade thinking about them completely. That silence, when we truly recognise it, when it looks us in the face when naked cuts our ambitions and glory down to peices.
Or something like that
