So much time, and no time at all.
Always behind, outside the door.
So much feelings of loathe and hate.
Too much time wasted on fate.
Wasting our lives waiting for the day,
When it will matter something we say.
Waiting a moment to be struck with light.
Is there really anything worth the fight?
Is there salvation in any path at all?
Is there meaning to any rise and fall?
What is the moral in any story?
What life spent is worth the glory?
Year after year we buy more time,
But whose really is it to rise and shine?
If most lives are always the same,
What is to gain in the end of the game?
If happiness depends on misery,
Will you enjoy it in complicity?
How can one turn the eyes away,
And pretend there is nothing to say?
Can we really feel that much indiference,
And keep living as if it made any sense?
Is it our nature to live in disregard,
To live a life that tear balance apart?
Is what we do really our own?
Does it not affect all that is known?
What do we know if not what it is told?
What is the real worth of gold?
Who are the ones keeping the history?
Who can decide what is or not gory?
How much on it's own existence one need to be,
To see only what they want to see?
How can one be other than an animal?
Are we any more than any cannibal?
If we keep eating others figuratively,
Are we any better unequivocally?
So what are you willing to do,
To make any meaning come true?
Will it make anything allright?
Will it justify the absence of light?
Maybe we will never make sense,
Maybe now is all we'll have spent.
Maybe we can go on never thinking,
Maybe enjoy without even blinking.
Meaning or not we are right now,
So what things are worth our head to bow?
Whose will are we living up to serve?
Who has to kill when we don't have the nerve?
Who can decide what is best for you,
If you don't even see what you do?
How powerfull can someone be,
If right now is everything we see?
Who is to say what is right from the start,
If hearts and minds are so spread apart?
How can we think ignoring our feelings?
How can we believe we are more then just beings?
Some say that what we do is natural,
In some deggree I think that is factual.
Some say we are just a cancer,
Nothing but nature's background dancer.
For me that is just an excuse,
Hides the responsibility to be of use.
For even though there's little that matters,
There is no reason not to try and do better.
In the end, the question lies in relativity.
How much can one live in anonimity,
While doing what he thinks he must,
Without feeling someone else's disgust.
Even nowadays with almost no privacy,
There is rarelly room for real intimacy.
We live our lives for the others to see,
Without asking what we want to be.
Through other lives we've always felt heat,
Always fantasizing what goes on beneath.
But no matter what time we were born,
We can only look at us with scorn.
A mirror might give us some hard perceptions,
It ain't easy acknowledging our own reflection.
So we construct an image of ourselves,
That would make envy even for the elves.
And we have made it so convincible,
That the thought itself became invincible.
And any change freezes us to death,
And become an enemy to our very breath.
So what do we need to live with dignity?
How complicated can be simplicity?
What do I need from life's shelf,
To finally be an ally to myself?
I have wished to have the answer,
To make my existence less denser.
I thought tales of imense granditude,
To validate every feeling, every atitude.
But the question always persists,
Because fate do not exist.
We are but masters of our own destiny,
In past, in present, in eternity.
We are what we fight for our own,
We are not what masters said we shown.
We are every second of our lives,
The small existence that affect the tides.
We are choices from big to small,
But never bigger then the inevitable fall.
We are not more then we will ever be,
We are but animals without dignity.
We are a pixel on a pale blue dot,
That our existence needs not.
If we aren't for ourselves and all there is,
Ain't no point in debating what is.