2006 December:

Another chapter of the same confession
Like a road treaded beyond its days
As darkness falls and lights grow dim
Spirits flee, demons swoop in
Are we blind, can we not see?
But our eyes work fine
They see the danger that lies ahead
Yet on we venture
Through thick brush in valleys of death
We give our souls, we give their flesh
Where is the hero of who we call?
But mute voices can not be heard
Who will save us in times of need?
When we do not ask, not one will heed
In the end, it’s the choices we make
We are the ones, and the paths we take