The clay was molded before it even had a say The hands that sculpt it always seem to pull away In decay, it's life spent Decomposing through the ages Eventually returning to the source Back down into the dirt Only to be dug up again Back to where it all begins Once more an unsuspecting victim Recaptured by the crafty hands that shape it But always leaving the work unfinished The twisted form always different Yet sharing the same base characteristics The mind forgets what the soul already knows The head won't catch up cuz it's too ******* slow So everything is misaligned The heart can't be left unsupervised It has a mind of its own that won't stay in line This is surely the curse of life Conflicting energies residing in the same soul Different currents, opposing motions Yet in the end spilling into the same ocean, Where all erodes into sediment Just to be molded and sculpted again