There is a balance, a scale that cannot be broken. It's weight cannot be measured in gold, it's value much too old.
Where are you hiding? Why must I settle? The pain is good enough for now, while you nod your head as if you're understanding.
Shriveled old body parts, liver spots and sun damage. This life is beyond repair. Her bright yellow sheen has been replaced by the dull, life-less grey that is in us all.
Cold desperation, clinging to ideas of perfection, yet settling for much less. There's not much left inside me. Simplicity is driving us insane.
I will make my life mean something, ultimately. It was always coming to that. A little boy dies so a man can live. Seems unfair to me.
Either way, I'll put on my best suit and walk outside. I'll get passed the jeering public and re-escape my life. I'll touch my finger to his cold, lifeless body. This instance, cold becomes a completely different idea. You can feel it when something is alive, it's warm, almost electric heat. But when death is done, all that's left is damp, cold space. Blood is stationary, however life no longer remains. What is life? How do you define it? What is it's concise description? A process with a beginning and an end; everything in between.
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