In A Matrix

as the high winds roll and the whispers call
those that rise, and those that fall
the sounds that for a moment enthrall
they turn as ripe as bitter'st gall
 
The whispers that make the sounds of love
the music that sings the tunes of love
the slience that speaks the lack of love
the mute response to the cry of love
 
let the voice be heard so loud to we
let the truth be, yea, let it be
let the madding imps bleed and flee
let the cloister'd soul run free
 
for moments past, for moments gone
for the soul that lies in waters forlo'n
for the hate that simmers, the hate unbo'n
let justice be done, let it be done
 
the talk is of the moments past
let it be of a tomorrow that will last
the footsteps, they long yonder pass'd,
let them be for a future to last


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