What holy cities are to nomadic tribes - a symbol of race and a bond of union - great books are to the wandering souls of men: they are the Meccas of the mind.
G.E. Woodberry
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The Flood
Standing, on the edge of forever,
At the start of whatever,
Shouting love at the world.
Back then, we were like cavemen,
But we map the moon and the stars,
Then we forgave them.
We will meet you where the lights are,
The defenders, of the faith we are.
Where the thunder turns around
They'll run so hard we'll tear the ground away.
You know no one dies,
In these love drowned eyes,
Through our love drowned eyes,
We'll watch you sleep tonight.
Although no one understood
We were holding back the flood,
Learning how to dance the rain.
We were holding back the flood
They said we'd never dance again.
Bleeding, but none of us leaving,
Watch your mouth son or you'll find yourself floating home.
Here we come now on a dark star,
Seeing demons, not what we are.
Tiny minds and eager hands
Will try to strike but now will end today.
There's progress now where there once was none,
Where there once was none, then everything came along.
Although no one understood,
We were holding back the flood learning how to dance the rain.
There was more of them than us now they'll never dance again.
Although no one understood
There was more of them than us learning how to dance the rain,
We were holding back the flood they said we'd never dance again.
We will meet you where the lights are,
The defenders, of the faith we are.
Where the thunder turns around
They'll run so hard we'll tear the ground away.
Although no one understood,
There was more of them than us learning how to dance the rain.
(learning how to dance the rain)
There was more of them than us now they'll never dance again.
Now we'll never dance again.
Oh ah,
Oh ah,
Oh ah,
Oh ah,
Oh ah,
Oh ah,
Oh ah