The thrill is in the ideal
Fire up your will.

Time is the illusion that it is
As everything is at ease
And the fact that you are such a tease
It’s such a breeze.
There’re moments when we don’t see
Eye to eye and we aren’t each other’s cup of tea
But we don’t bark up the wrong tree
Still stay true and swim in our own sea.
Every moment though short is treasured
Our penchant to toy with the absurd
Leaves us having mastered
The art of life how sad.
As the spectacle and allure
Of existence is fazed like bland couture.