Prometheus

The exhortations of traditionalism ring hollow
The echoing footsteps of cross-bearing martyrs, the rejection of free will
The inability to meet the challenge of critical thought and individualism

Heads bowed and eyes closed to the joys of today
Three things only do slaves require: Work, food, and their religion
Those callous-kneed ringer-kissers. The eyes of providence are blinded to the suffering that surrounds
True compassion is drowned by the baying and shuffle of the flock, bleating through a self-constructed hell

The fire in your heart is out
That once blazing light wreathed in the gloom of depravity
That unwavering standard to rally behind, that intellectual harvest
It's now barren and wasted, strangled by weeds of complacency
Frozen and bloodless in passion's tomb

I must escape sentimentality, clear away these dusty, maudlin affections
Turn my back on the corpse of the past, learn to accept the death of ideals

Everything has changed
Nothing has changed