[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
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