This ones a bit long... I don't know... I just had a lot of thoughts in my mind when I wrote it. Not so planned, not so much focus on rythem, some ryhming...
I think its just to busy. To many concepts I tried to cover. Anyway, enjoy. ~
I think its just to busy. To many concepts I tried to cover. Anyway, enjoy. ~
Another cycle begins, up and down the hill
This race seems worthless now,
But I’ve little to do but harden my will
And brace for the coming wind
I wonder how many beautiful lives have been wasted
On this suicidal ride up to heaven and back again,
Perhaps by staring, searching for something to seek,
I will learn the unknown and these wounds shall mend
So it seems, there’s nothing left to hide nothing left to find but a taste of the greater days
Don’t you know, in every path, at every turn, the world waits to haunt you?
Being alone, far from home, is it haunting in its own cruel way?
Is it the alienation that drives to such extremes,
Opening up once sealed seams,
Making us dream our crazy dreams?
Must our crossing paths be so deceiving, Byzantine?
Must the world keep spinning on leaving us in the cold?
Why do we have such little time before we grow old?
Is it too much to ask for more?
I’m so war-torn and sore,
I’ve forgotten what I’m fighting for.
And it’s a beautiful day,
I hear the mad man say
‘Why must we waste away?’
This race seems worthless now,
But I’ve little to do but harden my will
And brace for the coming wind
I wonder how many beautiful lives have been wasted
On this suicidal ride up to heaven and back again,
Perhaps by staring, searching for something to seek,
I will learn the unknown and these wounds shall mend
So it seems, there’s nothing left to hide nothing left to find but a taste of the greater days
Don’t you know, in every path, at every turn, the world waits to haunt you?
Being alone, far from home, is it haunting in its own cruel way?
Is it the alienation that drives to such extremes,
Opening up once sealed seams,
Making us dream our crazy dreams?
Must our crossing paths be so deceiving, Byzantine?
Must the world keep spinning on leaving us in the cold?
Why do we have such little time before we grow old?
Is it too much to ask for more?
I’m so war-torn and sore,
I’ve forgotten what I’m fighting for.
And it’s a beautiful day,
I hear the mad man say
‘Why must we waste away?’
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