| When the sky turns black, and the floodplains crack
|
| And you cannot look away
|
| Because on every side is the unstoppable tide
|
| In motion from the very first day
|
| Will you fall down with your knees to the ground
|
| In the hopes that you will be spared
|
| From whatever the wrath that may lie in the path
|
| Of those whose convictions dared?
|
| And when you’re called to serve, will you have the nerve
|
| To do all that you know is wrong?
|
| Just to save your skin no matter which side wins
|
| Just to know that you were there all along?
|
| Is it better to reign in a world of pain
|
| Than to serve a cause divine?
|
| We’ll see who you are underneath darkened stars
|
| There will come a time
|
| Oh, there will come a time
|
| And where does evil lie, in the heart, in the eye
|
| Is it a guest without a host?
|
| And does your mind concede to what your body needs
|
| To what a silent hunger craves most?
|
| And bending word to the limb, falling out, giving in
|
| Will you see all that Earth would conceal
|
| Below the melting land and underneath the desert sand?
|
| Is the desperate voice inside you even real?
|
| And is it true when you stare into the sun
|
| You can see the insides of sight itself?
|
| Is there a way to speak but not say
|
| So you’ll know if words come from you or something else?
|
| What do you hold in your hand, what do you understand
|
| To be only thine?
|
| And are you ever free and can never be
|
| Unclothed to the wind, uncovered to the bone? |
| Will there come a time?
|
| But who am I to ask you how your lips will move your words?
|
| And who am I to know the way your fingers curl?
|
| And who am I to wonder just what skin you’ve chosen this day?
|
| And who am I to stand behind you and to claim I see your eyes?
|
| There will come a time |