In this hyper materialist era
We find ourselves in
Is there such a thing as a true soul?
Or have we all become
Nothing but fake souls
The rights to our souls
Long ago sold
To the evil masters of the universe
The secret programmers
Of this cosmic video game
We all live in
And our dear leader
Has a fake soul
As he acts like he is robot
Trying to fake real human emotions
And usually failing miserably
I am a star in the sky, I shudder as I gaze at the earth
Not long past I belonged there, but I am indeed free today
One with the stars and the sky, staring down at the ground and rye
Steeped in profound elation, for it is indeed the end of my damnation!
The colour of my soul is one with the sky
Shaped by the eternal goodness of the rye
Wither'd above the leafy nook wherein
The chaffinch breasts her five blue speckled eggs,
All round the thorn grows fragrant, white with may,
And underneath the fresh wild hyacinthbed
Shimmers like water in the whispering wind;
Now, on this sweet still gloaming of the spring,
Within my cottage by the sea, I sit,
Thinking of yonder city where I dwelt,
Wherein I sicken'd, and whereof I learn'
So much that dwells like music on my brain,
A melancholy happiness is mine!