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Description
It's like watching children play.
Noble and upstanding children, I'll grant you that,
But children nevertheless.
All quaint charm, and big ideas
Endearingly confined in the smallest of worlds.

Maybe if they could see outside
They'd see people who don't want to be saved.
People who march willingly -
Not knowingly, it seems, but willingly -
Into their own demise.
People who don't want any righteous path to follow;
Their own is smoother, and sweeter, and straighter,
And they can so easily ignore
Those spectres that loom at its end,
Flickering in the bright sunlight...
Practically invisible until they catch you,
And then, well, it's too late.

Let the heroes climb their mountains,
Cross their rivers and hack through their jungles.
They'll follow us in the end -
Down our road.
Our beautiful road to nowhere.

Description
It's like watching children play.
Noble and upstanding children, I'll grant you that,
But children nevertheless.
All quaint charm, and big ideas
Endearingly confined in the smallest of worlds.

Maybe if they could see outside
They'd see people who don't want to be saved.
People who march willingly -
Not knowingly, it seems, but willingly -
Into their own demise.
People who don't want any righteous path to follow;
Their own is smoother, and sweeter, and straighter,
And they can so easily ignore
Those spectres that loom at its end,
Flickering in the bright sunlight...
Practically invisible until they catch you,
And then, well, it's too late.

Let the heroes climb their mountains,
Cross their rivers and hack through their jungles.
They'll follow us in the end -
Down our road.
Our beautiful road to nowhere.