Five hundred years and
nothing has changed
We are knaves and fools
all
Pretending we are hewn
from the steady oak
Instead of wheat chaff
borne in the winds
Of our own ego
Like dust, we sing loud
as the storm rises
But fall away to
nothing once the cold rain
With all its stinging
force
Bites home
Five hundred years and
nothing has changed
We count out our past
in battles won
See bravery in bullets
and blood
And pray for victories
Both big and small
Not seeing we are
already lost
Simply dancing in the
eye of a storm
While the death rattle
of our humanity
Rolls in
Grow me from a steady
oak
Unbending to fashion
and whim
To stand against the
prevailing wind
Forge my eyes from the
rain's tears
To see clearly for five
hundred years
And while knaves and
fools fall
I'll stand still
