Are we here or not? The question we ask as we enter. No one ever knowing we just gravitate towards the center.
We’re born and live, but seem to keep on dieing. Our false knowledge in this life we seem to keep implying.
What is this but an illusion? We’re here and thus we think, but it just keeps on and on blunting our intrusion.
We are just flowers stemming from the Earth. Petals dripping poison, yet we keep on giving birth.
The world is our playground a child breaks its toy. The cycle ever going, and we seem to just destroy.
Redemption is a dream, that’s seldom brought to life. Our souls sway back and forth balanced on a knife.
We rise in glory, and always fall in shame. So all we ever do is try to point the blame.
We’re pulled into evil but say we are doing good. And in the end all we can say is, “I did the best I could.”
