All my roots been feelin cracked and dry.

These indigo children not knowin how to lie

to themselves for too long, to their souls for too deep;

but they’ll keep on tryin til they die in their sleep.

‘Cause they’re dealt a hand of cards they don’t know how to hold;

they’re playin the devil’s poker and they don’t know they can fold.

Soldiers of the spirit learnin how to fight the war,

but all they’ve got to go off of is what’s buried in the lore.

‘Cause this world don’t care ’bout its own preservation.

The beings I’ve sent have met devastation:

Jesus and Buddha, teachers and brothers,

Socrates, Lennon, saints, and lovers.

None gave advice that was heeded, just rejected.

And that left our metaphysical lives neglected.

Fight on, spirit soldiers, fight on, fight on.

They say it’s fuckin dark before that dawn.

March 2013