The Son of the Hawai’ian King Kaméhaméha
That the world runneth on.
Now everyone danceth to the beat of a different drum.
Each one wearing his own headphones.
Each readeth from their own book,
Written by a voice in the back of their mind.
We art all walking alone together on our own bad trip,
Wandering into each other’s nightmares;
The channel changeth, but the Lie doth remain.
But taking over every floor of the TV station,
The Voice From The Back maketh its Doomsday Broadcast:
A recall on the new broken toys made in Taiwan,
And a life for children born as ghosts,
A ban on canned people and manufactured art.
Is there no end to the plastic hose of thine existence
Or dost thou go on and on like a crappy TV show?
When wilt thou heed the Warning of the Goats?
Of the one who shall fight with the Might of Old that once moved heaven and earth?
For the Son of the Hawai’ian King Kaméhaméha
Shall sail the high seas on his bed
And shall read from the forgotten books of a cluttered attic,
From the Lost Chapters, the Missing Pages,
He shall read between the lines.
With arcane knowledge he shall set out on the Endless Highway
To find the Secret Gate that leadeth to the Unknown Road…