The Edifice -

There is not a path

Only the bearded, balding father pointing

Through the litter of the past

And bracken of the future, pointing

The romance of the distance, oh

The trumpet that we’re sure we may have heard

We walk cause others walked before us and we’ve

Got to take their word

High valleys, crushing plains

We’ve learned to love the way of life, the quest

That we’ve been given

Trudging on by day

The memory remains of faces under-lit by fire

Old familiar glow of paint and poem

As powerful as words the faces spoke

Reach for the Edifice

Our fathers built it with their hands

This is a pilgrimage

This is the song that never ends