Docile dog you do your thing.
You build the world without intention.
Many a time you've left without pay,
Praying tomorrow will be the day.

Redemption; the swan-song of tricky idols.
The bastard, boisterous bang of The Book.
Tried by trial for sober judgement.
The gavel be the led you manufacture for men.

Docile dog, your basic instinct.
They've had you fooled into their game.
The remedy for misdirection...dillusion.
A cramp in your leg betrays your escape.

They'll make you dig your grave with a broken shovel,
Only to cremate you in the end.

Docile dog, why won't you listen?
Are your ears bewitched with the evening news?
What do you wait for? An order...a sign?
Do you poison your wife for your concubine?
Seal the deal with dimwitted insight...
Forget the love and fight...that's your way.

But let me tell you...

I wandered through ancient lands lost in modern time.
I marveled at PREACHERS of insight and truth.
Not dilluted by holy water or institution.

I wandered through trails of trees and brooks.
I sat and listened to omniscent wisdom...
when a trickling tree told me a sappy secret.

the answer is right here

These trees that preach with such divine simplicity.
It's a shame nobody will listen.

frank