Just like the past we wither away
All caught up in a world of grey
We don’t know why we’re here but we keep going on
...
Something around us is happening
The sand is counting itself
Hourglasses are frozen under the illusion of time
Poetry isn’t taught but we think it has to rhyme
All it boils down to is the conception of lines
On paper, creating shapes from thoughts
Abstract ideas, perceptions being altered;
In front of the altar
Everything we say can be turned into something else
If it's not happening to you it's happening to somebody else
Words on paper to stay true to ourself
Can burst into flames if you over think
Concise, precise, simple, plain
If you don’t go by these guidelines, expect to be put to shame
We aren’t all different but we aren’t all the same
To expect nothing is the hardest game