Lyrics Mortal Eyes - Humanist, Carl Hancock Rux, Joel Cadbury

Mortal Eyes

Excavations of unexcavated histories
Digging up black and blue mysteries
Past as present as prescient coherent liturgy
Harking back to some incoherent Sigmund Freud reaching for adherents
Y’all be seeing religion malignant religious social forces
As ways out ghettos like cowboys riding horses
Kneeling down to crosses, crying over losses
Irrational thought comes with economic forces
What survives and thrives more than one hundred thousand years of history
Ain’t a mystery to the mind that tries to see with the third eye
A whole lotta dead boys and a whole lotta lost girls
Are swimming through their tears here
In this place we call the now
So how you gonna get out of the place you embrace as home
Your fears ain’t even rooted in the neuroscience of the mind
You sighing thru time lying to yourself
About who you is and who you ain’t
Latter day saints of many aliases
Revealed to the God incarnate
Bestowed upon the surreal infinite
Occult of pseudo-teachings
Preaching about what bears no resemblance to truth
Who you think you oughtta be
Some sorta prophet of humanity
Imbued with self-sufficiency
Successfully ignorant in your militancy?
Out of one God comes many if any…
You ain’t trying to hear this truth
Today I stray from the doctrine of the lie
Today you stay in the toxin of a forgotten cry
Today I weigh in on the teaching of an irrefutable catechism
Today you bathe in the cesspool of a regurgitated schism
Reemerged on the other side of conversations and prisons of theology
Who you want to be when you grow up?
What you gonna say when you throw up?
Your hands to the poor righteous teachers
And poor dacrosant disbelievers
Who got their guns in your mouth
Strange wind blowing south of here
I fear it’s the samo samo
And all of what it used to be
Mystical traditions and hoodoo tomfoolery
Not everybody who wants
To mesmerize and proselytes
Knows the mystery of
Divine sacred knowledge
And lyrical anthropology
But you’d rather stand at the crossroads
Of the raven where still waters let the dead speak
Trying to hear what the words and don’t know the etymology
Of the dead’s terminology
Pathological sociological ritualistic behaviors
Plastic Gods, Glass ceilings meaning pyrotechnic saviors
Ain’t even trying to thrive for what
Got you high in the first place…
The last phase of eternal grace and the good days
Characterized by beliefs of what curtailed the countless
And what prevailed the doubtless
And what derailed the truthless
And what entailed the useless
What prayer you got stored away now?
And how you gonna find
A divine order to believe in
With this malignant tumor that you sceevin'?
Last night I recomposed the mystics of the Renaissance
And clarified the perspectives of a séance
Decided to go back and crack the book of the Humanist
Who started talking to me like this?
About Montaigne and Boccaccio and Ficino and Erasmus
And Diderot and Plutarch and monarchs and such
Deism to theism to atheism to see in
Dissolution of onto-theology, nephrology and elementary humanity
Lévi-Strauss questioned myths, Mary Douglas questioned this
The concepts of pollution and taboo’s hypothesis
Pascal told me the mind naturally believes and loves a falsity
Voltaire kicked in with some existential prosody
Said the reason I have for believing in something
Is not proof of the existence of the thing
So what logic you gonna bring to the table.
My absurdum?
How you gonna learn ‘em what they already know?
Seek your truth through moral eyes
All hail!
Smouldering ashes alight
Mortals rise