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To bear the consequence, of this layman’s toil
Is to wrest ones solace from ones kin, ones soil
So I gaze into a turgid ink sea
And I yearn for the power that created me

Fools and cowards, false prophets and thieves,
Run amok as always, as ever with humanity
As awareness and betterment are hardly the same
To ignore one’s own foible is to breed ignorance from shame

So were wandering
Wandering at the moon

To stride in the heady swathes of seething glory
Or when tendrils of cowardice force complacency
To ascend from emotion on the throes of indifference
Naught is wrought in truth but futility is constant

So I stared into black depths and I felt weakness tear
For futility is not ever a reason for despair
Though the conscience of mankind and the universe may soon cease to be
All shall be futile, as all are free

So were wandering
Wandering at the moon (repeat)

Then striding through the shimmering gloom
We were wandering at the moon

In the face of futility is conscience
This freedoms boon
To reach for the moon

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