Ritual by John Marglin & Carl Baugher

Human activity is organized around ritual, even daily life. Music is no different.

THE MIGRATION

The dwellers of the far range had never known peace
Their skies were constantly torn with strife and battle
Leaders of the reptilian stripe were never to be trusted
So the downtrodden dwellers made a pact
They chose to migrate

At first the skies seemed bright and hopeful
But this soon proved to be an illusion
A dangerous illusion, in fact
Enemies known and unknown were everywhere
And everywhere at once

Always on the lookout, ever furtive
They crept along the roadways and paths
With great caution and trepidation
Their patience was a virtue
Until one day they came to the crossroad
The fork in the dusty road

Stepping boldly onto the road to the right
They felt deeply that their choice was proper
The light fell on their feet and the sun warmed them
Too late they realized their mistake
The road turned dark and sinister
And the path became gnarled and twisted

With no choice but to walk on
They shuffled numbly toward their fate
The fate of all who choose the easy path
The road to ruin was now plainly seen by all
And they could scarcely bear to look upon
The faces of each other

Without warning, the road fell away
And they were standing at the edge of a great cliff
Beyond the cliff they could hear screams of pain
And their terror increased
With no way to turn back and nowhere to go
They sluggishly stepped off the cliff, one at a time
And their flights were quick and sudden
With a trajectory straight down

The travelers had migrated
But the migration had been their last