Change.
Is it possible to change?
Are we what we are?
Or are we what we choose to be?
Is life filled with possibility,
Or is It what it is and nothing more?
Can we climb out of despair,
Or should we just call it home?
I don't want to die here.
Dreams and fairytales captivate my imagination,
But reality says I come up short time and time again.
Can we catch a fucking break?
Can we belive that life is more than endless suffering?
Many of us are just barely treading water, gasping for a single breath,
Only to be dunked backed down time and time again.
Can we follow our dreams, or is this just an endless nightmare?
Please help.
My God, if you're real.
We have a sickness.
We devour eachother to eat.
And what's worse, it's the ones with insatiable appetites that prevail.
Wolves.
Tearing to peices all that is innocent,
Trampling over the sacred in a stampede of rats racing.
Like primates commanding over a nuclear control panel.
What is there to believe in anymore?
Aren't we more than rocks freefalling through cold space?
Aren't we more than the recipients of a shame and despair?
Well.
If it's true.
If we're destined for nothing more than to be extinguished,
Than let us go out with the brilliance of an exploding sun.
So that we will never be forgotten.
Give us one moment of awe.
Together.
No longer afraid.
And let our story become final.
Let us ascend to the world of myths.
In the dining hall of heros.
Around the crackling campfire of storytellers.