tabaet

Crazy Rambles


Wearing down our souls like an old pair of shoes.
God rolls the dice, and in the end we all lose.
I'm not being a pessimist, I'm just realizing,
This life isn't for the living anymore,
It's for the dying.
A dying age, a dying race, a dying earth, a dying sun,
and When its all over,
no one will have won.
Game, set, match,
In the end it's all the same,
Every wild stallion is destined to lame.
Grinding and grinding and grinding us down,
The great gear gnashing as the universe turns 'round.
What purpose is this Kismet?
A playwright so cruel,
To make a man wise he must first play the fool.
It's all means to an end,
Every scene gets played out,
Without a doubt,
As the crowds scream and shout.
All these allegorical revelations
and spiritual delegations,
All come to cessation,
But that should be our inspiration.
A hesitation in realizing this is the value to life,
And that death is just the cost,
It's not really a game,
Just an effect,
And a cause.