If clouds were always silvery white,
and sorrow were pretend

If every pursuit aligned with what was planned

If struggle were mere fiction, or simply undefined

How would we not also leave true happiness behind?

If everything were beautiful,
then what would beauty be?

Would we know that we were blind if we could never see?

The perfect dusk will wait for you until you've closed your eyes

But if each new day is empty, then what good is paradise?