SHELL
words and music copyright (C) 1983 by Ernest Clark

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Festival-time in Omelas...city shining in the sun.
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The parade winds its way around the streets, everyone joins in the fun.
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Zithers play, drums beat, and people dance, lifting voices happily!
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Festival-time in Omelas;  such a joy it is to see!

The streets are safe in Omelas, for its dwellers truly care.
When someone has need of comforting, love and tenderness others will share!
Can you now believe in Omelas?  that its life should be so free?
How could anyone be so generous!  How does all this come to be?

There is a room in Omelas,  where a little girl is kept.
She has stared all her life at its grimy walls,
In her dull fashion she has wept.
She knows nothing of the world outside her room,
They never have nor will ever let her out!
Yet the citizens all know of her state.
Of that there can be no doubt.

Every twelve-year old in Omelas must be taken on a tour.
They are brought to the room with the little girl, and see what's behind that door!
They are shocked as they see such ugliness, as they've never seen before,
This horrible, whimpering travesty
In her own wastes on the floor.

And they cry as they think of what they've seen, knowing that it is unfair.
But the wound in their souls scars over, guilt transforms itself into care!
Her fate is the bedrock of Omelas, underlying all they do!
Can you now believe in Omelas?  See the force which keeps it new?

But a few who live in Omelas  do not overcome the blow.
For a day or a week gaze silently, out past mountains crowned with snow.
I can scarcely conceive of Omelas, but even less of where they go
When they walk away from Omelas
And nevermore there go.