Hold the Spirit

Hold The Spirit

(Dennis Small / Christian Nóvé)

Masters of a moment
Kings of seconds laid still
Burying treasures in the dust
That lingers on a window sill

Bridge:
Time steals all true meaning
But never finds its fill

Promises fade to echoes
Belief is always cut to thin
A weary war, a torn blanket
That can’t keep the coldness out.

Owners of printed color paper
Holders of rhyme working slaves
Producing all that plastic is now holy
But never capturing the sun’s waves

Chorus:
Hold the spirit - Make sure that hope is coming on !
Hopeful wideness - Hold the spirit - the primal tribe !

C-Part:
Future made of clay and tin
Belief is always cut to thin

What once was freely given
Is now a whispered bribe
Words that never start to conquer
What they try to describe

Mankind once hunter now hunted
Roots served to the primal tribe.