[Music by Adam Cook; lyrics by Michael Cook]

["They wanted, as we say, 'to call their souls their own'.
But that means to live a lie, for our souls are not, in fact, our own."
- C.S. Lewis, The Problem of Pain
The fate of the proud, our fate, could not be more clear.
If we continue to insist that we own ourselves, we will succeed in destroying a part of ourselves that still remains useful to God.
The fig tree will eventually be cut down, even now the axe is set at our roots.]

The continuum I behold, such is my inner want
Not that I should hold above that which is not around me
The art of soul is now meaningless
As I behold my total lack of self

Lo! Demeter
Behold the earth
Above and below
Thou makest believe
Uncreated!
Above the sphere
Rebellious globe
Thou makes us believe

Why, oh why are we left?
To be sin in such perfect a place
The desolate mind is so perfectly spoiled
In the eyes of a raptures snake

Eyes of a raptures snake

Here me speak, brothers of the earth
My words are shattered like clay
So I speak as if thou were a child
Lest fire besiegeth thy hearts

Beckon forth! The soulless mankind
Standing in ranks of thousands still more
But this fate is what I've always feared for we soulless men

We soulless men