The Potter and the Clay

When I'm a tired puppet, strung out on every string
And hungry for adventure or a note that's out of key
When I'm called out of comfort to a land that's not my own
Awoken from the slumber that has plagued my father's home

I'm tempted to leave early, to abandon every post
To stand above the valley of the lilies and dry bones
But I must seek the balance and not forget my place
The master and the servant, the potter and the clay

When I'm a force of nature, when I am without strings
And sifting through the idols of possibility
When the dizziness of freedom has brought me to my knees
Nauseous from the taste of what I have failed to be

I'm tempted to find comfort in the lethargy of fate
To throw off freedom's burden, to return to my old ways
But I must seek the balance, though the paradox remains
The sleeper and the dreamer, the potter and the clay

When I'm part of the system that I swore off in my youth
The one that fed and clothed me, the one that gave me proof
When I'm crippled by resentment from my friends and foes alike
And severed by the scissors of someone else's black and white

I'm tempted to fall silent, to just pack my things and go
To live outside the system or to start one of my own
But I must seek the balance between sacred and profane
The player and the playwright, the potter and the clay