The Exile Part I - The Razor's Edge

So, here we find ourselves again
And one might think it's such a pity
To be standing on the razor's edge
No, how Occam would be ashamed
Or so the dreams appear to say

Oh see, they tell of numb and wretched men
Who've strayed far from the path
And they tell of nameless, faceless men
Whose every detail shrouds itself in myth
And with poeticism, with insight, and with tragic glee

Oh, what does this speak of me
If I look on so curious and unappeased?
Would such a thing be read and understood so easily?
If it was to be, then surely it would be
This surely is a dichotomy
So prevalent and irrevocably elegant
So I've come to see

Then, why does it haunt me so?
What agency is mine to bring to a union with the pre-ordained?
What have the fates to gain from a destitute and witless being?
Long discarded by the way

So is this a treatise or is it a game?
Is this pleasure or is this pain?
Or is there something more elusive?
Perhaps this could be destiny
But as long as I draw breath I'll not let it make a fool of me
Lest I wander to the gallows
And hang until I'm dead
I've seen the mountain in my dreams
And I shall seek it 'till the end

So beneath the sight of God
Shall I forever march in deep into the pines
And find my place in the all
In the everything, might I just overcome
But what of you, my dear?
Oh, what of you my love?
Oh, how I'd hate to see us part

But I must deceive you again
I'm sorry, but the voice that calls me rings inside my head
It pains me so, the visions torment amidst my fears and sins
But nothing wagered, nothing earned
And for this, I leave a rose beside your head
A crown of thorns