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Description
Dare I speak of many things?  To sit among cabbages, while discussing kings?
To stand upon the hilltop grand, trying to hold storm-wind in my hands.
The wings of birds carry them far, but my thoughts carry me to foreign stars;
where sky-lights dance upon the moor, and ravens sing of Nevermore.
Nevermore, that land so near, where we sail upon our tears.
That land which makes us weep and sing, and makes the fools go adventuring.
For they seek what cannot be…to find the desert within the sea.
Dare we tell them it's all in vain?  Or will they only seek again?
Life is full of questions odd, which none can answer, except for God.
And He in Heaven looks quietly down, at people of rich and poor renown.
He keeps the secrets to Himself; writes them in books He keeps on a shelf.
Maybe someday those books shall be read, and all of those stories can be in my head.
Yet it may be that I must go, and find that it's better never to know.
For knowledge is painful, and ignorance bliss – what is never known, can never be missed.
Or so people say, and try to believe (those same people try to empty the sea with a sieve.)
Give me the knowledge, and if it cuts to the quick, then I at least have the choice to forget.

Description
Dare I speak of many things?  To sit among cabbages, while discussing kings?
To stand upon the hilltop grand, trying to hold storm-wind in my hands.
The wings of birds carry them far, but my thoughts carry me to foreign stars;
where sky-lights dance upon the moor, and ravens sing of Nevermore.
Nevermore, that land so near, where we sail upon our tears.
That land which makes us weep and sing, and makes the fools go adventuring.
For they seek what cannot be…to find the desert within the sea.
Dare we tell them it's all in vain?  Or will they only seek again?
Life is full of questions odd, which none can answer, except for God.
And He in Heaven looks quietly down, at people of rich and poor renown.
He keeps the secrets to Himself; writes them in books He keeps on a shelf.
Maybe someday those books shall be read, and all of those stories can be in my head.
Yet it may be that I must go, and find that it's better never to know.
For knowledge is painful, and ignorance bliss – what is never known, can never be missed.
Or so people say, and try to believe (those same people try to empty the sea with a sieve.)
Give me the knowledge, and if it cuts to the quick, then I at least have the choice to forget.