this fire burns
beneath my breastbone
like the burning leaves of autumn
the haunting smell of dying alone

try as i might
to follow a certain path
my clumsy feet
always lead me off track

crashing on some moonlit road
that i think is leading home
but i stumble and stumble again
tripping over imperfections, all my own

now i'm lost more than i was at the start
pandemonium, perennial chaos
each road intertwining into a mess
and i just can't seem to shake this

i hope there is a point
i can see an A and B
but i can't seem to figure how
i travel the roads in between

which makes me wonder what's the point?
they say life is so much more
and that there's some greater purpose
but is there really, what's it for?

when out of every face we pass
on our stumble home
we find our's is the only one
we've never truly known?