I'll Meet The Raging Of The Skies,

Our Land, The First Garden Of Liberty's Tree-- It Has Been, And Shall Be, The Land Of The Free.

Triumphal Arch, That Fill'st The Sky When Storms Prepare To Part, I Ask Not Proud Philosophy To Teach Me What Thou Art.

On Linden, When The Sun Was Low, All Bloodless Lay The Untrodden Snow, And Dark As Winter Was The Flow Of Iser, Rolling Rapidly.

Tis Distance Lends Enchantment To The View, And Robes The Mountain In Its Azure Hue.

Your Belief Systems Limit Your Reality To A Sub-set Of The Solution Space That Does Not Contain The Answer.