The soothsayer's burning the neon bible



The fire he's kindled has spread to the trees



Then the poet, a stoic, says if you're so faithless



Why have so much faith in disbelief ?




The watchman and guardian both fight for glory



One fearing stagnation; the other one change



Neither conquers the Gordian Knot of deciding



From spiritual drought or atomic rain






Which the overzealous zealots advocate




There's a chapel adorned with a fluorescent triptych



And beneath its borders ring jovial hymns



Its admirer is mired in its message most cryptic



Conducting his choir with phantom limbs




He's painted himself into brilliant corners



With imprecise brushstrokes void of design



Expectant spectators inscribe their own meanings



And call the ones that don't see it blind






And the overzealous zealots lose their minds




When the waking Somnambulist vaults from her nightmare






Her vapid surroundings will render her vexed






Time immemorial wasn't enough to






Make sense of illusory scrambled text













She's lifting her crutch to illumine the skyway






A beckoning beacon to foretell her course




She espies constellations molded in her image






Aligning the stars to a moral north






As the overzealous zealots trample forth








Narcoleptics and insomniacs envy each other






Though neither is quite sure which one is asleep






Awakenment abstracts away from the prophets






Which both men are bound to bounteously reap







They're approaching the tomb of acceptance and virtue






Of which time has divested its former appeal






A lost mausoleum of lore and beliefs which






Lives in the book of the seventh seal







And the overzealous zealots shout with zeal!