This is for the way great thinkers, throughout time, have been persecuted for their beliefs.

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I knew a land long ago,
where the worlds did not go round.
And the stone from the sky,
fell but still it made no sound.

Where the fires burned the soul,
when the heavens shook with fear,
They're but words with no voice,
to the silence that I hear.


Some see visions 'long the road,
there where others fear to walk,
None but saints or madmen,
who's to say who is to mock.

Stand alone in the light,
face the wrath when darkness nears.
Reaching out, reaching in,
from the silence that I hear.


Time to question with fervent brow,
Having eyes but will not see.
When reasons left and lost,
the beliefs are not believed.

Echoes still from the past.
False truths that we hold so dear,
Are but thoughts caught in time,
in the silence that I hear.