I walk the land of my fathers
Which is the land of the dead.
They are dead in this land,
They are not alive nor do they speak.
And then I see the ashes of cigarettes
Flying in the air
And smoke from my lungs
Exhale any destiny.
Do I live for them now?
To live as an example for dead men?
Shall I make a world they do not see,
A destiny set forth by corpses?
If I should not need a reason to live,
But to define myself based on
A man's lost wishes for the son
To fulfill his unfulfilling dream,
Then I shall erase all heritage
And find some other destiny.
Even the living,
Those whom I know to leave me
Behind and turn away like a memory,
And if they looked at me truly
Would not recognize me,
Would I base my reasons to validate
My existing the way I choose?
Perhaps if I carried my gun
Like some madman's projection
Waiting for the justice to take me down?
Even more so,
The men who carry guns with a justified
Perception and rake
Killing fields,
Would this bring ultimately the truth
Behind an existence of self?
No. The sad fact is that humanity
Does not have enough humanity
In consciousness to redeem history.
Maybe if all would become idealistically
Precise in a view of moralistic richness?
Change the course of men and women,
Change the animal inside us?
But this is our battle,
The battle itself - again-
We come to the struggle based on
The concept of ethical standards set
Forth by dead men and women.
So then, after this,
Do we put God at the front of
Our malice, change what we
All have done in the silence?
Don't feel so special,
Don't feel sk miserable,
Cry a thousand times and smile
At the moments rarely recognised,
Its all the same, you and me
And them and everybody.
We are here now,
Superfluousness nature and emotional
Animalistic definitions of a raindrop
In time.
No one is here,
Only in your perception,
Which by all accounts
Is as needy as mine.
