The only time,
I seem to care,
Is when the sun,
Swings 'round to call me.
When birds are heard,
Through morning air,
And no memories,
Dare befall me.

No twisting doubts,
Or nagging pains,
No binding chains to hold,
Though this is grand,
The fact remains,
The day will soon unfold.

And with it too,
My chores will come,
This thing I do call work,
Shall drive me mad,
And drive me numb,
And leave me in the dirt.

Yet still I rise,
To greet it strong,
Just as life demands,
"How time flies,"
"You don't have long,"
"So spend it with your hands."

Counting money,
Or busing tables,
And spinning fables,
To get you through,
This life of yours,
Which you call stable,
Though we know,
This isn't true.

So why on earth,
Do we live this way,
Spending time in foolish fashion,
We work ourselves,
'Til dying day,
And rarely find our passions.

Yet still we rise,
As days before,
And continue this "Nothing Cycle."
We give our lives,
To something more,
A state of true,
Denial.