Is it men of old who trace lines in the dust?
Scripts lost in trust, traced in lines of rust
Speaking of beginnings, where is the cause?
A God man buried in legalistic laws
There’s always this calling, an innate demand
Was the fabric of the first collapse planned?
The pulse of the cosmos
The birth of decay
Annihilation fashioned
With molecular clay
Erasing the history, we are grinding to sand
Refusing absorption that God made God man
What is the light?
(What is the light?)
Where is our sight?
(Where is our sight?)
These landscapes just can’t be right
Where is the fuse of eternity?
Who lights the candle of infinity?
We’ve buried and forgotten entropy
An origin veiled in obscurity
Is all of this just dust that dreams of divinity?
I guess we’ll just have to wait and see
The pulse of this world, the birth we betray
Concentrated passion in a broken state
Erasing the history, we are grinding to sand
Refusing absorption that God made God man
What is the light?
(What is the light?)
Where is our sight?
(Where is our sight?)
This history just can’t be right
This light seems so bright
Did man make man lose sight?
God made all this, right?
We call it creation, but it feels more like theft
A history rewritten to escape what’s left
The question persists in every design
Did we script the gods, or are we the divine?
Scriptures written and full of trace
We seek the author, but never the face
Erasing the history, we are grinding to sand
Refusing absorption that God made God man
What is the light?
Where is our sight?
These historians just can’t be right
This light seems so bright
Did man make man lose sight?
God made all this, right?
In the beginning was the silence we feared
A void too deep, too raw to be cleared
So we crafted our gods to quiet the noise
A myth of control, a fiction of choice
A fiction of choice
