I used to search with my eyes and mind Searching for a different kind Of reason that would always be Autumn, Spring and Summer to me; To fill in all my splintered rights And turn all my wrongs to right; And change the never changing ways Of people, who just spend their days, In search of some reality That only falling eyes can see And when it seems that all was lost I turned their heads to Pentecoast Point them to the Golden Fleece And all the things, it does release; Break off all the chains that bind Free them from their disillusioned minds.
The contracts of my youth expire And drag me through an ageing mire. I stand alone before the chair; The Council are expected there. The organ-grinder. In the streets plays, Plays to my funeral suite. The prosecution, just with lies Tears up all my alibis The defence alone seems to exist, Upon my life being an ageing risk And my learned friends I say to you The point them to the Golden Fleece And all the things, it does release; Break off all the chains that bind; Free them from their disillusioned minds.
Between the walls of dark despair Where Fountains weep and gargoyle's stare I claim the right to have my say In my life's ever changing way. Time has cost its darkest role In taking back the years I stole.