A Boat of Fire

O, the beauty of the word writ. Behold, and contemplate the element of your enlightenment and redemption, and know that all is not ever lost, even when it all is. Though we cannot all let the light flow through in wondrous withering strains, we can yet avoid tearing our clothes and gnashing our teeth through gentle observance of such strains, and equally gentle realization that while 'hope' may be a dead, worthless word --the word of the flat screen demons and pulpit politicians -- the ideal still remains and grants peace to those who cherish it.

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Dear Brothers and Sisters,
Dear Enemies and Friends,

Why are we all so alone here? All we need is a little more hope, a little more joy. All we need is a little more light, a little less weight, a little more freedom.

We were an army, and we believed that we were an army, and we believed that everyone was scared like little lost children in their grown up clothes and poses; so we ended up alone here floating through long wasted days, or great tribulations... While everything felt wrong. Good words, strong words, words that could've moved mountains! Words that no one ever said.

We were all waiting to hear those words and no one ever said them.
And the tactics never hatched.
And the plans were never mapped.
And we all learned not to believe.
And strange lonesome monsters loafed through the hills wondering why...
And it is best to never ever ever ever ever ever ever ever ever ever wonder why.

So tangle us -- oh tangle us up in bright red ribbons! Let's have a parade. It's been so long since we had a parade, so let's have a parade! Let's invite all our friends. And all our friends' friends! Let's promenade down the boulevards with terrific pride and light in our eyes; twelve feet tall and staggering... Sick with joy with the angels there and light in our eyes.

Brothers and Sisters, hope still waits in the wings like a bitter spinster; impatient, lonely and shivering, waiting to build her glorious fires. It's because of our plans, man; our beautiful, ridiculous plans. Let's launch them like careening jetplanes. Let's crash all our planes in the river. Let's build strange and radiant machines at this Jericho waiting to fall.

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-The Silver Mt. Zion Memorial Orchestra and Tra-la-la Band