The Gathering

Melodic stanzas
are symphonizing their way
through your weary head
To feed your distrust
And fill it's mouth with the desire
to soulfully be one with your creation
Not a subject to control
you call upon a higer power
for help and inspiration
The crowd waits
and turns their faces
towards you expectantly
you give them what they need
But their useless criticism
makes you die
a bit more inside
Not a subject to control
you call upon a higer power