oh, what a wide world to conquer, it rests in the palm of our hands.
the lines blur between corruption and where we sit upon our thrones
and we draw blood as if it's our right to, but is it our right to?
we've been swaying for centuries
and we've dug in our roots
as we drink up the sea of divinity.
but we can't seem to shed our afflictions
what pitiful deities we make
if we can't reach beyond ourselves
such lowly gods we create
when we only believe in what our hands can touch and our eyes can see.
we are withering branches, we are sick and dying vines.
oh, what a wide world to conquer, it falls apart in our hands
Behind the Song:
but what gods are we? for thousands of years we have been unable to transcend our basic animalistic passions for hate, greed, and violence towards our fellow man. the greeks envisioned their gods just as humans, imperfect, flawed, violent. modern philosophy envisions the god of theism as embodying perfection, justice, and mercy. surely, these are qualities far from our reach. Nietzsche's overman, then, seems to become what it set out to destroy, an otherworldly idea.
