A strange generation-now at watch By the rain of fire Decommissioned-from the drag of days From mirth to grave Like seed you would cast the hope i always Wanted to know; To reach inside for its heart-to bring it Back in these hands I prayed and kneeled by the image Made of silver, light and time I lit and burned my incense But the altar was so wrong To this day i cannot live with those Ricochets from silence