A Sophic Fire

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