We are but leaves upon the wind,
folly is our master and we, the slave,
never believing our story's been spinned
until we go smiling into our grave.

Our bliss is our youth, our youth, our bliss
and we revel without knowing why
but there is no morale to all of this,
choice truly is the greatest lie.

None us will ever reach the stars
or the heavens or anything up above,
we serve our lust in clubs and bars
but we go our lives without serving love.

...and if just rhymes could change the Earth,
maybe then, we would have some worth.
But we will not find it, here nor far,
because worthless?
That is what we truly are.