and the alignment is not cos of me
Confinement of loyalty to a cause I adore
is the highest definition of free
In the land of the free I'm among my own kind
Our stripes are the stars in our eyes
But as I reach for those stars it seems hard to find time
to breathe in the ascension in height
And does ascention in height come at the expense of my roots?
Am I cut off from the past that I am?
A tree that's imploded will not produce nourishing fruits
like these crammed days are no good for my land
But it's all in my plan, and mine's all in His
as He floods me with this wave of intrigue
I do understand that in the virtue business
it's the blessing of practice we need
When postmodern podcasts cast doubt on these points
am I venturing into water too deep?
When my feet leave the floor as I pursue these exploits
Will my love of the flood stop retreat?
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