Prophets

There's a height I couldn't reach nor about the wings that carry me
There's a feeling never found nor about the words to bring it out but thenMaybe I was better naive, or maybe I was better when I couldn't seeI felt the water over me, a cold and lonely welcoming
And not a sign that'd say I'd find nor the warmth of Messiah's hand on mine but thenMaybe I was better naive or maybe I was better when I couldn't seeI have seen a friend or martyr bleed
And for what?
For the stranger tied to us, with no authority to speakAlways the loudest who voiced only their ignorance (x2)With no authority to speakThe rock should be, an anchor for the weakLike thisA struggle of feeling
A struggle of guilty
A prophet of sympothyWith no authority to speakAlways the loudest to voice only their ignorance (x2)With no authority to speak
And this is its reasoningMaybe I was better naive, maybe I was better when I couldn't see