Thunder rolling over head
Hunching over the deary man said
"Everything is a lie"

Delirious from a modern revelation
Effecting his push to move on
Among the many weary from thought
The thought of the millions of piles
He is allowed to stand upon

"Oh god what are their names, dear
    god please tell"
For the foundation is built, upon the
    blood we till

All while the cycle repeats

Hundreds of millions of individuals
    we pile high
Uttering senseless words in a unifying
    cry
"May I always be alone in this mass"
"Belonging to a useless lower class"
"Love me always for I endured"
"Every hardships to try to keep
    pure"

"My god how many are there" the
    dreary man asked
Anonymous characters looked at him
    from the past
Never tainted by the words of history

Walkin' on the edge of land
Gripping hold with weary hand
Staggering over I fall to stand
What do I see?

For the end of the road is near
And spitting out at the end of the pier
A land locked farmers fear
Of the unknown

The blue waters, rising sea
Began right where you can see
All the clearness after the foamy brine
Forming a line

To divide the truth of heart
You find you can not pull them apart
The end of land is where it starts
A blue monster

Look to this when you are hungry, and sinning
and look deeply into your vision, what do you see?
A man made marvel. That is all. Is that what you strive for?
To obtain nothing and hold it for god to see is simply heinous.
Unrepentant ignorance. So is that who you wish to be? The pathetic corner where no one treads, the person who has no future tense, and even the person who lacks any will. Constitution, I should say.
You are who you make yourself, after all who controls everything you do? Inaction and action have the same power, so decide. Choose for yourself, is it now, or tomorrow, or even better, never?

Centuries stretch into decades
Decades crumble to years
Years dilute to months
Months spoil to weeks
Weeks transform to days
Days pass through hours
Hours scramble to minutes
Mintues fall onto seconds

And it goes and goes
With a logramthic speed
While I stand still
To contort some truth:

Man made measurments meticulously made
May mark mere moments
But
With words witheld within
Wallowing waves wash white, "whys?"
Away.

And...

I speak in riddles as I should
When faced with nothing
But left with the word "could?"

Could of? Of course. Could I? Yes.
I could do anything, definitely
But no I would never
It is a hopless endeavor

And death ushers who it will
And brings their heart to a still
As we all look to how old
To comfort us
From death's hold

For his grip is unrelenting, arbitary, overreaching and perpetual