"Turning into black
Void; enter hollow recesses in our
consciousness
Together we gather in preparation
of the "Sacred Hoop"
Intent on living
not lost in time
In alignment with our
dreams
As smoke up the the heavens;
it wanders"
The storytellers voice faded into
silence
"Turning into dust at his feet
were children
all of which told of nothing
except dreams
Reality as the false accuser;
living isn't what we're used to
On the wings of death herself;
Lusting for an answer,
A clue lies in the distant horizon ,
too be had
If only insisted upon by spirits
of light
But they'd better know what
they're looking for first;
Before eternity ends..."
Void; enter hollow recesses in our
consciousness
Together we gather in preparation
of the "Sacred Hoop"
Intent on living
not lost in time
In alignment with our
dreams
As smoke up the the heavens;
it wanders"
The storytellers voice faded into
silence
"Turning into dust at his feet
were children
all of which told of nothing
except dreams
Reality as the false accuser;
living isn't what we're used to
On the wings of death herself;
Lusting for an answer,
A clue lies in the distant horizon ,
too be had
If only insisted upon by spirits
of light
But they'd better know what
they're looking for first;
Before eternity ends..."
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