The thoughts, the deeds we bury still
In our consciousness they lay in wait,
The things we do and then we feel,
As if they too deserve our hate.

And who are “they”, but us forgotten now,
We look at them not hiding our disgust,
And yet we never really know just how
The things we do and our thoughts’re unjust.

Each hour, minute, second still
We walk alone, so separate and sad,
We bear this cross, and suffering until
We realize extent to which we’re mad.

This madness us pursues all days,
There’s not a moment, second when we’re sane,
But why there is a feeling inside stays,
Which tells us clearly – there is no need for pain?

Why do I feel our purpose is not this?
It seems… sometimes in life we dream of things,
It seems… between this hate sometimes shines peace,
Sometimes we’re lost in life – or in our dreams?

And yet, how do we tell a dream from truth?
The world taught us that only bodies’re real,
That we’ve to put these bodies to good use,
And never truly listen how we feel.

But just as me, I know you’ve heard
This feeling throbbing deep inside,
The feeling we’ve so long deferred,
The feeling shadowed by our pride.

It cries and prays for us to hear
To see the truth that we forgot,
With time, the feeling grows and comes so near,
The feeling which still does remember God.

And then our love grows stronger still,
And we embrace the feeling pure,
We’ve struggled, suffered, fought until
At last we’ve found our only cure.