Wayward off you go towards where your feet take you
Wayward daughter, wayward son
To the end of the world, we go
Towards the edge of soil and liquids
To the end, we go.

Stubborn deceit,
                           love is a foreign air—
                                                            ­ we become the clothing we wear.

Wayward we go, to imagine our immortality;
to our sorrow; to our horror; to our heartless core, we found nothing more.

If our fate is to climb to the stars, a rule must be set never to forget the dirt, from which we were born. We become the clothing we wear.

Is it so that life chants melodies of death while death hums lullabies of life—
Tributes of the kindred, of devotion, of love.
Sweetest of longing, of belonging to be one; life sends death gifts; death returns the favour.
Wouldn’t it be so? Life gives birth to a souvenir; it evolves; it grows; it transforms. At the very end of the journey however it started, ended and all the parts in-between—the gift is received.
It is treasured as one of a kind, kindred, as one of life as one of death, kindred.
Wouldn’t it be so? Death partakes in it, value it beyond means to which we could fathom that the only thing death could send back is the essence; the soul; the spirit of what life gave.
It is treasured as one of a kind, kindred, as one of death as one of life, kindred.
Kindred.

Safe and sound, boundless and ageless
Locked up in a cage, shackled and ageless.

Nit-picky fury, is the lash someone else’s or your own?

Words with no meaning, no colour, no sound
Words in a bottle in the ocean in the hope of being found.

It’s just life, those things we say and do to survive
To manage
To Cry
It’s just life, the catastrophe, the identity, to survive
To Crave
To desire.

In consequence, how the story eventually ends
Long may the road be, savouring each detail along the edges.

Eager to please, you do as you prefer—as you wish.

Maddening is the cruelty, how a warrior should lack frailty
As if the Greek gods did not provide mistakes of their own.

It’s just life, those things we say and do to survive
To manage
To Cry
It’s just life, the catastrophe, the identity, to survive
To Crave
To desire.

It’s just life, those things we say and do to survive
To manage
To Cry
It’s just life, the catastrophe, the identity, to survive
To Crave
To desire.

You’ll manage though you’ll cry
You’ll crave love, you’ll desire.

Heal-
       thy life
Heal-
        thy soul, body, mind
Heal-
        thy life
Heal-
        thy soul, body, mind.

You need control; you need to be heal-thy, your soul is in shackles
Isn’t it overrated to have it all under control; let live, let die, let the flame arise.

It isn’t where we are going, where our aim direct us
It is if we live while our shoes carry our bodies on our way there.

Heal-
       thy life
Heal-
        thy soul, body, mind
Heal-
        thy life
Heal-
        thy soul, body, mind.

“Loud clap” Fight, if you wish to have a heal-thy life, directed of your own
No one but you can make the decisions, none, none, none but you control you.

It isn’t where we are heading, where our hearts direct us
It is if we live to the fullest while our footprints guide the way.


Heal-
       thy life
Heal-
        thy soul, body, mind
Heal-
        thy life
Heal-
        thy soul, body, mind.

Mm, mm, mm
Isn’t it sweet?
Mm, mm, mm
Isn’t it lovely?

We’re a combination of chemicals trying their best to work
We’re a formula sometimes correct but most of the time a little faulty
No one was given guidelines for her composition
No one was given guidelines for how her life should be used.

Heal-
       thy life
Heal-
        thy soul, body, mind
Heal-
        thy life
Heal-
        thy soul, body, mind.

You come to slay the monster; you fumble into its den; you hear shrieks, noises, moans—oh all these noises. Here it is! It baffles you, terrifies you; you fell in love. It is the fairest of portraits; the most horrifying image to be seen… Low and behold! It is a mirror, a mirror, a mirror. Could it be anything less than a mirror? You stare into the abyss, into heaven—to a face close to your heart. It is a battlefield, a war beckons; the fight of your life is now. Will you flee or fight? Choices oh choices they terrify you even now. Swords, shields, arms of all kind lay at your feet—the face whispers: Fight me. You ready yourself bare to the teeth, no weapons, no clothes fresh out of the womb you scream “Fight me!” Can you hear the howls? Taste the pouring blood? Acknowledge both sides? It is a battle between gods; goddesses; lovers; fiends. One side shout “You!” The other “Me!” Can you see the scars? Taste the dripping sweat? Acknowledge both sides? Face to face both in fear, both in anger, both in love—screaming, shouting, whispering “Fight me.”

We’re too easy, aren’t we, too complicated, aren’t we?

Life is a disorganised show, aspire to it enjoy
as it progresses as a circle, round and round.

You’ll find a meaning friend; this is not the end
Not by a mile
A milestone, not even close.

Right, we have to fight, aren’t you tired?

You’ll find a meaning friend; this is not the end
Not by a mile
A milestone, not even close.

We’re obsessed, how troublesome, we’re the “best”, how troublesome.

I’ll die at the end of each night, to be reborn
As a saviour as an executioner—life’s too kind.

You’ll find a meaning friend; this is not the end
Not by a mile
A milestone, not even close.

Right, we have to fight, aren’t you tired?

You’ll find a meaning friend; this is not the end
Not by a mile
A milestone, not even close.

You’ll have to understand, as I’ve by misunderstanding
You can find something beautiful even if you do not comprehend it.

You’ll have to understand, as I’ve by misunderstanding
Your perfection is not the only beauty on earth.

Right, we have to fight, aren’t you tired?
We have to fight our own battles, battle our wars, being a child was so beautiful.

We have to fight, but not ourselves.

Life, a fruit consumed, it gives, it takes;
the cost has always been the same:
Everything.

It is beautiful, in its unfairness, in its strangeness,
In its unforgiveness, in its colours.

Beauty is in the eye of the beholder,
Then honestly look, life can be anything
Also, absolutely nothing.

Life, a fruit grown, given, taken, eaten.