Sometimes the line between truth and lies
Is ambivalent like weather with cloudy skies.
Where the light ends, and the darkness has not yet begun,
The romance of the crimson twilight may be overdone.
I'd like to believe I know the wrong from the right,
But then why do, for simple choices, I sorely fight?
Morning follows every night, they vehemently assure me;
That night follows every morning is what haunts me.
If nothing that we do or say changes this never ending saga,
Then why these discourses on good, and bad, and karma?
Destiny is a desolate consolation - we live to die;
This vicious circle remains unbroken as hard as you try.
Before and after the intermittent streams of consciousness -
There is no memory, no sound, no pain - only stark hollowness.
Is ambivalent like weather with cloudy skies.
Where the light ends, and the darkness has not yet begun,
The romance of the crimson twilight may be overdone.
I'd like to believe I know the wrong from the right,
But then why do, for simple choices, I sorely fight?
Morning follows every night, they vehemently assure me;
That night follows every morning is what haunts me.
If nothing that we do or say changes this never ending saga,
Then why these discourses on good, and bad, and karma?
Destiny is a desolate consolation - we live to die;
This vicious circle remains unbroken as hard as you try.
Before and after the intermittent streams of consciousness -
There is no memory, no sound, no pain - only stark hollowness.
