Too many heroes stepping on too many toes, too many yes-men nodding when they really mean no.
Take your place in a wiser world of bigger motor cars.
Give us Direction; the best of goodwill; Put us in touch with fair winds. Sing to us softly, hum the evening's song. Tell us what the blacksmith has done for you.
Too many temples where we could worship the beast.
God of ages, Lord of Time, mine is the right to be wrong.
I'll make love to you in all good places, under black mountains and open spaces.