Stacked up beside a portrait,
Like a dusty idol on a shelf.
Waiting to be found in some one else's story.
Awaiting for reality to shine me on my face.
Oh hear! Oh dear! Dont you hear them shouting.
They're coming down to take us to the hills of the wise.
Where realists build empires around a campfire.
There they will teach us how to live and grow a life.
Oh there you will find,
All the answers to the unknown.
But beware to never question,
The teachings of the tribe.
Cause their words are forged,
In the fires of the loyal.
No matter how may you burn,
Your flames shouldn't cast a light.
A hundred names will you meet;
A thousand faces for every name.
So remember to wear your name with pride;
As you wash away a new face everyday.
Do treasure your pennies,
And count them every night.
If the lights grow bleaker;
Burn the homes of the needy,
And marvel at your treasure,
Shining in the firelight.
And when you hear their children,
Screaming in pain;
Do remember to hold them tight.