I want to write a homage to us for the things that may yet be
But future’s plight precedes our flight to worlds we cannot see
I believed before that our life might be the offspring of our hope
Writ by those who might propose a much more august scope
What folly it is, this dream of ours, this victim of circumstance
To pretend a life of wondrous days with some eternal romance
Unintended of course is this awful plight of facing reality
When all around is all that is here and all that may ever be
We face one another to ask one another to promise a promise eternal
But that promise proposed is much too opposed to all that is truly external