Shading upon a grey wall
Stabbing a dead man's gall
We live to breathe, but we dont conceive
Our ideas dont weave, insights not received.
Living in absence from the utmost vital part
Is it our lungs, or is it our heart?
What will change if we lose our soul
Will we turn to dust, what happens to our mould?
We chase the pieces of our puzzle
Not finding the puzzle board
Rat racing till the very end
we look for the Master's hand.
A lie, or truth; mystery foretold
Knowledge comes from sorrow
And the greatest answer that we seek
is from the grave that follows.