Dead Inside.

Forever am I mused by those who believe in their failed human selves.
Scientology, forgive my laughter.
Extremist of any path, may my taunts enrage you.
To the self proclaimed hunters, my eyes are upon you.
Your boast of will and strength summon the attentions you would be wise to leave unsought.

Darkness is not evil, nor is light goodness.
Empty though is the soul of no beliefs.
Dangerous are those of rigid faith.
Enlightened become those with open spirits.

The earth spirit calls me, to be at one with her.
The wind spirit speeds me, to the fate set.
The water spirit soothes me, when peace is scarce.
The fire spirit is my strength, in the battles raging on.

To the wisdom of the ancients, I keep open ear.
Let Thor guide the hands of this craftsman.
Let the Fae enjoy my song.
Let the cross be a guide to my morals, yet let not the true history be forgotten.

To the insights of the ancients, I find open eye.
Their visions, lightning spanning the sky.
Their greatest canvas the empty human soul.
Believe not in them, and as a puppet you'll fall.

Will you dance beneath the oak, or bow your head.
Will you laugh chanting all gods are dead.
Will you blindly find one path, and all's well.
Will you find your own faith, taking pieces of each at the gong of truths bell.

To the teachings of the ancients, my heart finds embrace.
So many lost through out the ages, what good is your strength without that knowledge.
So many torn, broken down, what good is your will without that wisdom.
So many fallen to the void of nothing, empty puppets to their graves.

Fall at their feet, ask when you take their gifts.
Thank the sun, for the food you eat, even if your path keeps you in the dark.
Thank the moon for your dreams, even if you never gaze her while you sleep.
Thank the ancients for the world, call them what you will, but know they are.