What is life?
How do we know we live?
Why do we live?

Isn't it just one big illusion,
Or a big dream,
Or just a mere fantasy.

Sometimes life feels so empty,
It feels like it doesn't exists,
And yet it does.

Sometimes it feels like on big joke,
It feels like we are being controlled,
Like the Sims people in the Sims.

Sometimes I like to think about how small we are,
And yet are the rulers of the earth,
Although we are destroying it.

Are we really alone in this existence,
Is there no one else out there,
Not even the tiniest piece of life of some sort?

When I think about those things,
I feel so small and vulnerable,
I feel like the real me that I am.

Tiny and small.
It doesn't matter who I am.
As I am one little dot in this entire existence.

Or is it even an existence?
Am I really a live?
Does it really all exist?

Or is it just my fantasy,
Like a drawing of a little kid,
Who draws stones with faces.

Are we really existing?
And if so, why do we?
Who are we?
What are we?
Where are we?

I know who I am, I know what I am, I know where I am.
I am me, I am what I am, I am where I am.
It is what makes me me, humble and small.

Hair flicks in the air
As the drive goes
With lowered down windows.

The air lashes
And the radio blurs
As the only eye sees
What it wants
As the coast glides
as we coast down
This road.

And perhaps
You wanted to take
another way
But we are at the mercy
of the driver,
With the sun in our eyes
and the sea to the left.

But please don't forget,
As you promise you wouldn't.
But the salt makes it hard to stay awake,
and the sun feels so good.
But you're gone as you should.

with the wind blowing my hair back
the plain brown,  not much to look at
the straight nose and long legs;  it looks
great on somebody,  anybody else

but not me

with the wind blowing my hair back
it steals the words from my lips,  lifts
them up into the sky;  it's a clear night
and though I'm dead,  I feel alive

blustering south winds
have blown constantly all eve
they're packing some speed