Standing at the edge of a shattered lake of despair
Pondering the notion of how little people care
Not such placated sentiments as hollow as dried up bones
But those that tear at the soft bellies of what one might call home
Time will test the measure of any who withstand the wind
Knowing that our greatest strength will always come from within
We cannot always see the future by relishing in a past
Hardly do we see our own dreams coming in last
Yet there is always a bright light in a tunnel standing black
Often there is a turn point...for which there is no coming back.