Five Hundred Years

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