[Music by Adam Cook; lyrics by Michael Cook]    ["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 fate of the proud, our fate, could not be more clear.  If we continue to insist that we own ourselves, we will succeed in destroying a part of ourselves that still remains useful to God.  The fig tree will eventually be cut down, even now the axe is set at our roots.]    The continuum I behold, such is my inner want  Not that I should hold 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 earth  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    Here me speak, brothers of the earth  My words are 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've always feared for we soulless men    We soulless men    these lyrics are submitted by turd