"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 continuum I behold, such is my inner want
Not that I should bold 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 eart
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

Hear me speak, brothers of the earth
My words that 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 have always feared for we soulless men

We soulless men