Where is this life headed?
I feel like I'm in the middle of the sea
Trying to find a shore,
Realizing there has to be something more
To this rather daft existence
Trying to find the meaning of your origin,
Feels nothing more than a burden
I'd rather live a little,
For dreams that often seem brittle
All these empty pages in my book
Waiting to be scribbled down
With stories galore
Maybe what I need to work on
Is an index for the book,
So I can head towards
where I want to look.