It isn’t decisioned
But, we’re here in the midland
So, we own it, we loath it, we pretend like we chose it

We’re young and we’re drifting toward whatever the mission
Not fearful, not excited, but somehow united by the sense-ness of it
Control or no control with glimmer or gleam
Knowing what lies ahead will be what will be

So unknown but determined, no choice, just its sermon
And as we continue to drink... to fight, love and write
Despite the science of late laying waste to our tastes
What is known, just inferred experience
So to propound is unsound, for what good would it do