There is a band of demi-gods
Who house the controls to the world They draw the heatwaves and the floods And decide when the wind should whirl I call them the Windmasters But you may call them Sirs Their voices are the supreme authority And lash out at those who don't concur They hold the reins to Acts of God You have to appreciate their power And it's irresistability As constant as an hour They've convinced you that their acts Are the will of an indifferent force Any well thinking man Will reply to that "of course" They've got their method engrained in you As familiar as your own phone number Its become ritual, you don't even think Of it as anything but detached plunder To you the ends (now) justify the means And deaths are as regrettable as burnt toast They feed off of that tainted opinion Like a parasite to its host And the rain washes away the blood Soon the sun will come out But not this time, I'm the weatherman And my forecast is a drought The battles are only as steep a climb As the stairs to the second floor But you can't get inside the house (til you can) Look at the door Copyright (c) 2003-2016 Joshua Ransom Packard
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AuthorMy name is Joshua Packard. I am using this site to share my song lyrics and get feedback and suggestions for future song compositions and lyrics Archives
September 2016
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