A Sophic Fire - Quadrivium

I, the ancient philosopher

Has laid his hands on your shoulders

I welcome you, the tired and misunderstood

Release yourself from this hell that is all your own

Fear not fire or brimstone

Fear idle hands and minds

Fear not phantoms or wraiths

Fear the plains that shine

Mirrors your heart

End this harping of the same old chords

Torment awaits for those who linger in the past

Reverence is the virtue of the damned

End this journey in his field

His permeating cold field

Lift the mist from of your minds

Surrender to the domain of the soul

End your existence in this realm

Cease to be the object of ridicule

I, the ancient philosopher

Has laid his hands on your shoulders

I welcome you, the tired and misunderstood

Release yourself from this hell that is all your own