And drives them on the time line
Of ignorance to a secret destination
A long march into oblivion
From one dark cave to another.
Pain and tears, loss and fears
Are like deep gloomy craters
Some get tumbled into craters
Some can climb up, some cannot
They get stuck in the middle
But for sure both their end – the oblivion.
When the doubts and difficulties delay the march
Duty is the whip the director cracks on the backs
Duty is the whip which everybody obeys
Some gets a lash some gets trash but one gets
his quota until he obeys.
When frisking and raving disturbs the march
He uses a piercing tool to create wounds
Insult and worry are the wounds that control
And quells the revelers and make them travelers.
He gives unlimited work and limited joy
A little happiness now and then to heal the wounds
Tomorrow is the greatest medicine
Tomorrow is the greatest medicine
He pulls the characters with the rope of hope
Into the bright future – the oblivion