• As I swing and sway,
    Throught the haze and oil

    I cant quite slay
    That Man should like to toil-

    On things that dont feed your dreams.
    Break the mold of clay, and soil.

    The biting stings for rich men's things
    Now you wear the richmans strings.

    Were living inside the illusion,
    Where you see every intrusion
    As a delusion- of me.

    Yet once you find your tree
    There youll be, home again!
    Home-free...

    Close the window.
    Break the glass!
    You may yet see her-
    At last!

    Theres a woman we all know,
    Who nurtures us as we grow
    In milk, honey, and liquid-fire

    As it slakes, she sings
    "Beware of the snakes,
    within the lakes,
    and quaking streams.

    "For if they bite you-
    and incite you-

    "You will be as they are-
    Within the dreams."

    Who can deny her?
    Set her on fire?

    She IS a flame
    For the slain,
    And pyre

    The sound of her weeping
    Will waken the sleeping,
    And quicken the crier.

    A laborer screams-
    She breaks the seams,
    Crying out for the creeping things.

    A new creature is born,
    Without fear of scorn

    A creature of light,
    Within the night,
    And morn'.