The mother of humanity
Cast aside without a thought.
For what do we owe this calamity?
Man’s wrath is a terrible blot.

I wonder what you were like.
I wonder were you kind?
I wonder did you mean to free the mind?
I wonder could you heal the blind?

Did you dream?
Did you yearn to be free?
Did you want to sail some distant sea?
Did you simply wish to flee?

Can you forgive your children?
Can you absolve our sin?
Can you forget without chagrin?
Can you soothe our burning skin?

Will I win your praise?
Will I make you proud?
Will I meet you in the cloud?
Will I hear your voice aloud?

Reality we dare not face.
Nothing awaits us at our end.
For what then gives meaning to the great chase?

Why do we stumble along the bend?
For what goal to we keep apace?
If for after all there is nothing at our end?

How then can we die with grace?
Knowing that our souls will not transcend.
How can we win the race?

Why should we care what god may intend?
For we know there will be no heavenly place.
Why should we try never to offend?

Then again, why must we win the race?
Why can we not accept our end?

I take two or a few
To stay from keepin’ blue.

I take two or a few
To see the morning new.

I take two or a few
To have my laugh renew.

I take two or a few
To sleep the dark night through.

I take two or a few
To be there for my Sue.

I take two or a few
To see the sunshine view.

I take two or a few
To be like little boy blue.

I fear the coming of the dawn.
So I march through a terrible yawn.
Until I know the nightmares are gone.

Tomorrow will only bring me pain.
For I can never wash away the stain.
And I know my efforts are made in vain.

I shall awake to the same tired face.
Trapped in the same cold dark place.
Never knowing the value of the chase.

Always held in the same broken form.
Forever fleeing from the storm.
Never able to reform.

My path is set for all my days.
I fear I will never change my ways.
And I will always fall short of your Gaze

The world may end in ice,
Or else it will burn in fire.
Neither seem very nice.
Now the situation grows dire.

I am certain of only this,
I shall never know the bliss,
The earth cannot withstand.
It will die by our own hand.

That the world might fall to ice.
For wouldn’t it be nice?
Never knowing who’ll pay the price.

My hands beat against the glass,
For every breath I let pass,
You draw ever closer to your last.

Shall it be with some great blast?
Or will it be a somber gasp?
Or will it end with a shaky rasp?

My hands beat against the glass,
For all my effort I cannot surpass,
The falling of your mast.

Shall I be able to clasp
Your gentle hand and hasp
Your life to this great mass?

My hands beat against the glass,
As I watch your end come to pass,
May your laugh forever last.