cigarette paper faith

if earth is a place of pain

and space a safe retreat

we must take what joys remain

to plant beneath our feet

we must figure what we can

of nature's great toolbox

and clad the superman

in filthy socks

what can i say? the future

must like shine out like a sun

to inspire the bitter creature

to be the holy one

make fire but burn not everything

that we would yet renew

can we be the king

who still delights in dew?

i believe it but i don't know where

our hope is coming from

if not from in ourselves

how can we shape the storm?

how can we take the form

that is most pleasing to us

if we're not coming from

a place most decorous?

what is the make of man?

what is the brand of soul?

who are we? and who can

we choose to take the role?

what actor stepping forth

from the backstage of the mind

directs us to true north

elevating humankind?

it is i who speak these words

it is you who walk alone

together through the woods

towards the vacant throne

we must play the part of god

we must each take up his power

and delicately hold

the world like a simple flower

how else could we aspire

to universal might

who could with holy fire

obliterate the light?

who might with jealousy

pluck out each tender star

and snuff the majesty

that knows not what we are

this is the tendency

of children with a gun

let us not be he

who is unworthy of the sun

we must come into our own

see the muscle of our arm

feel the strength that we have won

see what power we have to harm

feel the love that is at stake

that unites or kills us all

see the virtue we foresake

and the error we forestall

it is so fine, delicate

as the tissue of the skin

let us not now lacerate

what's so keen to let us in