The Oracle

The unknown soul whose final song was wrote Like history, saw the future we had planned And warned us that our life’s a sunken boat With nothing more than hope, a cup in hand. With fruitless wares of distant know-hows seen Is something made for man to see himself Like plans he promised most were evergreen, Indeed were nothing more than his ill health. Behind the forward march, that vast abyss The warnings that I offer you today, Show something we'll regret, to reminisce By leading with temptation do we stray. As blind may pull the blind, a tow ropes length The violin has played its last lament, Looking back at good times are our strength To futures leaping forward in cement.