GAMELON ARE THE HORNS
The mystique widens as the message grows :
somehow someone is coming again. A religion
takes over; first he's here, then he's killed and gone,
then he's back again only to leave again and say he'll
be back again but you won't know when. Whew!
That's a heavy burden for me to bear.
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I don't know if I want to carry that burden. Hey, excuse
me Sir, but do I get a choice? A real choice, not just the
alternative is damnation kind of choice; that's too easy.
Is there anything You can do?
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I went to school, all those years; I followed all the
dictates of what they said and did what they told me to
do, pretty much. Now for that I get nothing, or what
do I get? I still have to listen? It's just noise to me now,
like a Summer of horns by guys on LSD.
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I have a solution, a solution outside of faith; it makes
me real and whole and functionally correct about all that
I do. What's this big criterion anyway, about this life? And
what are we to measure it against? The dwindling light of a
fading candle? It goes, it flames, it withers, and then is gone.
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