Desperate Times, Mediocre Measures

Sitting here just sipping on a Courvoisier, Slipping deeper into a suspicion That everything ends the same Each man might have a mission To just advance his position - Any fault on a decision The competition's to game. How much kindness is left at the top though When you have a say of a child's fate 100 miles away? Power can only make power stop, So there seems to be a monopoly of power In every type of way. Old ideas can't simply step aside When they built the rules In which our world resides. And, hence, the cost of possessing the eyes That witness the confines And qualities of time. The weight of truth that's really not benign When you possess the eyes that create their own divine. Be glad to simply be given the time To cultivate the love By which we must survive. Consciousness could simply be caution Confined in constant etymologies of thought In proportion to what is displayed - Experience an inherent inheritance A defence against all the questions The gift of foresight can't help but display. How much can you trust mans at the top though When he makes a play for a piece of land 100 miles away? What good is left when you get to the top though when you have a say of decisions made 100 miles away? Does he have mind to concede his place though When position pays in the workings of this game? Will he let you supersede his place? NO! He'll put you on the payroll And send you on your way. Old ideas can't simply step aside When they built the rules In which our world resides. And, hence, the cost of possessing the eyes That witness the confines And qualities of time. The weight of truth that's really not benign When you possess the eyes that create their own divine. Be glad to simply be given the time To cultivate the love By which we must survive.