There’s a certain way about humans and how we always search for answers,
A cyclical pattern marks our every move as we live and we die with tranquility as a lofty goal,
But we can't help dissecting the tiny pieces, the gears that grind against the grain; We wonder why dad has to check and double check the lock, why mom counts the seconds until the day is over, why family conversations always happen in the car—
And that’s when complexity engulfs simplicity:
We quickly shed layers of blame, like the scarf and the hat we toss to the wayside as soon as the worst of the storm has passed,
Because we know better than most that when it rains, it pours,