Where is the freedom of thought in ritualism?
Where is the kindness in a room of blighted wisdom?
Where's the love when they keep saying that hell is a choice?
Amongst the wails and the noise, where is the little voice?
Where is the experience between the lines of a thousand pages?
Where is the majesty, when there are the crying faceless?
Where is the love, when words comes across tactless?
Where is home, when even trust becomes wreckless?
Where are the labels, when humans are nameless?
Who of us judge? .. who among us is blameless?
Where is the humility inside an elitist?
Where is the sense in an evil idealist?
Where is the patience in the forever learned?
Why the imperfections, if we're meant to be perfect?
Where is the music amongst these religious war horns?
Where is the sharing? Did we choose to be born?
Where is the beauty in a disdainful glance?
Where's the life in the world when we cant even dance?
Where is the truth when the population can't ask the questions that are obvious to them to ask?
The truth is a light. A question lights the lamp.
But the search for the truth requires the freedom to ask.
How can we ask the questions, without the chance?
Nobody is afraid of a question. They are afraid of recognizing the answer.
Where is the kindness in a room of blighted wisdom?
Where's the love when they keep saying that hell is a choice?
Amongst the wails and the noise, where is the little voice?
Where is the experience between the lines of a thousand pages?
Where is the majesty, when there are the crying faceless?
Where is the love, when words comes across tactless?
Where is home, when even trust becomes wreckless?
Where are the labels, when humans are nameless?
Who of us judge? .. who among us is blameless?
Where is the humility inside an elitist?
Where is the sense in an evil idealist?
Where is the patience in the forever learned?
Why the imperfections, if we're meant to be perfect?
Where is the music amongst these religious war horns?
Where is the sharing? Did we choose to be born?
Where is the beauty in a disdainful glance?
Where's the life in the world when we cant even dance?
Where is the truth when the population can't ask the questions that are obvious to them to ask?
The truth is a light. A question lights the lamp.
But the search for the truth requires the freedom to ask.
How can we ask the questions, without the chance?
Nobody is afraid of a question. They are afraid of recognizing the answer.
Last edited: