I'll search the towns
The sun is ours
Let us live
Like these are our last hours

Everyday I relive this time
I will never feel alive
I will never give up this fight
Like these are our last hours

As we are lost in them
Your tears come falling instead
The pain just ebbs
What was love has now left

Earth is in orbit.

I can see it in the window.

From the window of this
Conflict-free
Facility.

A crew of
Four souls

In gravitational symphony.

A crew of
Four colors

Ad rem and
Unsegregated.

The vastness of space
Brought us together.

What's the transmission?

"Why can't the world below
Live like this?"

Flowers, diaries on the shelves
I wonder if they still are worth my while
Flowers, diaries on the shelves
The leaves that have gone dry by sitting there

Crisp under my feet
Amidst the thatch and thicket of words
Overhead the images of her lurk
In the pages of my diary now begging for a lover

Flowers in the bright fluorescence of eclipses tonight
Clasping the sunset, hoping the light never dies
As aging does to a venerable man
Shall my heart be left without a captain?

The pages have dust settled in them
Much like the crusted windows of a dingy inn
I had more than a crush by my teenage years
I was a victim once, until I let go of my fears

All my life's a stage, but I've played my part
Moaning the conviction I lacked from the start
Flowers, diaries on the shelves caked in dust
All that is alive tonight is the lust

Coming out
Into the world,
After a sure start
With nowhere to go now
Almost choking
At being an adult
Living life,
As it was laid out
By nature and nurture
Unfazed by my own religion
Or the world outside,
Never talked
To the guy upstairs
But living used to be sacred,
Is now all but sacrilege
If it were always
My plan versus his
I never stood a chance
But there's a sense
Of burdened freedom
Along with a sense
Of joyful realism
To be happy
any chance you get,
A fine ventriloquist
He's got his ways
Makes you admire
The work he does,
While pondering
The meaning of life,
The fine line
Between right and wrong,
Trying to get some
sense of control
Thinking of pulling
One up on my destiny
Of saving my soul
Not selling out
To this facade
Of what we call progress
But maybe I should
Just stay a while
And enjoy this blissful anaesthesia,
Monitored by the man himself.