One would like to think we have a choice,
Of what to do with this time we're given,
Hoping that thoughts we can voice,
Praying that by our gods we can be forgiven.

But choice is a two-headed serpent,
Cold as ice,
Fake as the paper money we've spent,
Frivolous as I when playing with gambling dice.

Drawing you in with empty hope,
Only to spit you back out for the wrong selection,
You're falling down a steep *****,
In a world in which you lack protection.

When you are about to draw the card from Janus' hand,
Reminded of what comes ahead,
Be sure your move is planned,
Lest you wind up dead.