Life is just a compilation
of sad, and depressing beats.
It's the world's worst mixtape
created by a "fabricated" being.

Whisper me some words.
Lead me to your home.
Let me kiss your body
while we're all alone.

Show me that deep love.
Set my soul ablaze.
Make me forget my name;
make me quiver for days.

Love ain't so easy,
but with effort we can make it.
Love is quite a feeling;
it's best if we embrace it.

You're trekking through muddy waters
feeling those chicago blues;
singing "I can't quit you baby",
as if you believe those words are true.

Take the Summer night in.
She'll be a beautiful stranger soon.
She left you in the dark
but forgot about the moon.

We are born without memory of whom we once were.
We are born exposed to the elements and incoherent whispers.
We are stripped of our power, if we had any before;
doomed to live life again chore by chore.

Why ask 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘦𝘢𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘰𝘧 𝘭𝘪𝘧𝘦?
when there is a better question to be asked.
𝘞𝘩𝘺 𝘤𝘩𝘰𝘰𝘴𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘭𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯 𝘰𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘸𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘱𝘢𝘴𝘴𝘦𝘥?
The afterlife is said to be so tranquil, so at ease, so overwhelmingly free.
But perhaps that's all a hyperbole?

Maybe the afterlife is chilling,
maybe we are confined to be alone.
Maybe there is nothing there,
just us floating in the abyss
without even a thought of home.

Or maybe until the day arrives where you're offered a choice.
Do you stick around for nothing or regain your voice.
If you say 𝘺𝘦𝘴, then you're off into the light.
If you choose to live again, you could make this one right.

Maybe we continue to mess up and never learn from our mistakes.
Perhaps death comes at a time where our creator thinks we need a break.
Maybe dying to just be reborn is a second chance, a second take.
Maybe each time we live, we learn, and then truly awake.

Maybe this life that we continue to live and relive is a test
and in order to reach the true afterlife we have to achieve our best.
So maybe we'll continue to live until we become like our creator.
And if we never learn, maybe we're stuck in this world;
to relapse, forget, repeat, not doing our own self a favor.

It's been quite a while;
about ten years of drear,
but a new decade has arrived;
I'm sorry you were met with such little cheer.
The previous time that has passed
was not too kind.
You'll take some getting used to,
so I hope you don't mind.

What will it take to break from these chains
that I locked myself in and lost the key?
I'm not a magician,
I don't have a trick up my sleeve.
And people pass me by, but don't even blink.
Unless I ask for a shot, then they pass me a drink.