[D. Wayne / K. Vanderhoof]



Times like these to people please

Fables spread like some disease

New age gods like old facades

Write a book

You'll like the odds

Inventing gods

Old facades 



Take apart human heart you will start

Through the doorway of all your sorrows

Beginning to pull you away



In the night the sometimes light

The seasons which run out of time

When I press this game of chess

I always end with something less

You've made a mess

Of your Sunday best 



In search of the answers, what never should be

Laughter erupts from primordial sea

Standing there naked with bended knee

All of your works face eternity



So though I play the same each day

When faced with pain I often pray

Take my hand you'll understand

The place we go is no-mans land