So what exactly is this thing called hope?

So what exactly is this thing we call hope?
Is it some kind of longing or a written confession?
Does it result in some sort kind of action?

So what exactly is this thing we call trust?
Sure I see specific examples of it in my past
But I am talking about now, here in the present

Oh all these words I throw out without understanding
I assume I know their meaning
And make grand conclusions
creating elaborate paintings

Oh but wait, what was I thinking?
I lay here stuck, frozen
And trying to enlighten this mind
Only tighten the chains

I guess these assumptions are a sort of fuel
That dries up the moment one begins to ponder
Which in turn leaves us stranded

Maybe this ignorance is bliss
It does keep us going
But to where? An oasis or an abyss?

Analyzing cuts in pieces
Our priceless master-pieces
Oh is it worth the high cost?

Oh but our lives are falling to pieces
Should we not sort the pieces?
It does not seem unwise

Maybe if I could just get some understanding
Oh if these words could take on weight and meaning
Maybe the scale would finally lean in my direction

I hate my insights, my sermons, my teachings
I am no different, I am like the rest, I carry on and on
Proclaiming things that ring true and sounds so intelligent
But are nothing more then a commend to a man get out of the road
when he is a deaf, armless, legless, drying, poverty stricken man
But should I seal my mouth and never speak again?
Could I seal my mouth and never speak again?
Cause when I open my mouth I make a fool of myself
And when I think I see the fool that I am