They’ll be damned if we make it.
They who can’t see it.
The light of the world that shines before us, but exists in another dimension
We who are listening in our heads, we who, with ourselves have a conversation.
About seeking truth and in wisdom if it may come
Or in pinching pain from our love in the Sun.
The light that isn’t visible to the eye but somehow touches the skin, the heart, and we’re listening…
We’re listening for the light, and we’ll follow it in the dark, we’ll keep on listening…
We’ll keep on walking, and laughing as it whispers a joke to us
We’ll cry out loud while they look at us with fear, with inhuman mistrust
They’ll have us believe that we don’t belong here, that we are mad, a lot of crazy
But they live in dim human light, for them it’s all hazy.
And no matter how much energy they waste, how much electricity,
It’ll never shine as bright as we do as we’re listening.
The light that they listen to sometimes, only when we’re singing
When it escapes our soul, out of mere vocal control
They’re listening and they jam, sometimes they even dance
But once the song is over, they jump straight out of the trance.
They return to their robotic state, and look at us with much hate
Our heart breaks their entertainment, in our struggles they’re rejoicing,
Call us hippies and trippies, but we walk on, listening
For we know their hate is for the light within us, not for the way we’re living.
But the heart beats, the light speaks, and far away we go, following it.
With the music of the light, the world will be ever so bright,
But they’ll be damned if we ever make it.
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