The Rite Word
When you find your way is lit by torches,
you must ask yourself "By whose hand?"
When the way falls to darkness,
look for a compass to cross the land.
Where the fool's montra is spoken,
that "Freedom is a place in your mind."
There the helpless gather, waiting,
for the imagined prophet's sign.
There are seven planes of sex and hell,
but there are three degrees of raising.
The shepards say they own the Truth,
but only hoodwinked men are seeing.
Soverignty is only a ripple in water,
and that cool dark hand always near.
So, waste no time listening to cowards,
because the Rite Word is already here.