From the recording The Dwindling Road
Inspired by The Denial of Death by Ernest Becker. If not for grand illusions, how could we survive the day?
It's a grand illusion, a necessary lie,
That ever-circling vulture will somehow pass us by.
We see the aged on their canes and skulls on barren fields
And cling to the illusion that we will never yield.
It's a grand illusion that we are in command.
That trouble's not a wild card about to wreck our hand.
We see the wise of mind outguessed, the sure of foot collapse.
And cling to the illusion we'll dodge the snares and traps.
It's a grand illusion that we are center stage,
Our trials more than margins of an ever-turning page.
We see ourselves as heroes in a life of epic scale
But in the grand equation, we're footnotes in the tale.
It's a grand illusion that justice will prevail,
That everything will balance out upon the tilted scale.
We see the work of folly sung, the song of truth ignored,
And cling to the illusion we'll get our due reward.
It's a grand illusion that we're the world's concern,
That it will mourn or miss us when we finally crash and burn.
We drive around the accident, ignore the siren's moan
And live by the illusion, we suffer/perish not alone.
We live by grand illusions, self-deceits, and frauds,
Consult our stars and horoscopes, build towers to the gods.
We blind ourselves with busyness, keep our shields deployed
And build our bright tomorrows on the trapdoor of a void.