She might need a change,
her life is at a rest.
She sits and ponders over
If she’ll change for the best.

Will she change for “sake of change”?
In a life that has faded
Maybe she’ll change on the surface,
Her soul still just as jaded.

Now she sits and laughs emptily,
thinking that in every shape and form
change is somehow constant,
and that change becomes a norm.

Will that change control her?
As change succeeds each change,
*Every changeless constant
to her will now seem strange.