I am called the Oracle, a Soothsayer
But the future wears a shroud of fog
I find no answers in the Dreamscape
Only nightmares in the Land of Nod
For eons humans have beseeched me
The Halls of Time echo with anxious pleas
Heavy is the mantle of their cares
They yearn for peace and clarity
My search for reasons wearies me
I know the frightening image I will see
A solitary figure walking
The majestic Halls of History
He raps lightly on the first door
“Please help me” his desperate call
The response is only silence
The door opening, that is all
He hesitates on the threshold
Never daring to go inside
He waits vainly for an answer
I sadly wonder why
I silently cry, “Take action!”
“Searcher, enter! Find what you need.”
For History only repeats what is written
Recounting the words and the deeds
So once more I will reveal this vision
Hoping the symbols will somehow be clear
History shows us the path to the future
But it’s my weeping I wish they could hear
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