If the path we've decided to take
has us in a vehicle
that was designed to be a source of ache;
is it any wonder that our lives feel like a mistake?
And if the only opening from which to look
And if the only opening from which to look is a gash placed below a nook,
how are we to recognize the mystical nature of the mountain dew?
And if our steps have been replaced,
And if our steps have been replaced, should our backs not ache by the smallest concern?
And if the very air we breath no longer comes from above but it is instead pumped directly into our lungs,
is it not foretold that we'd forget our father's tongue?
So, then let's learn to be ok
So, then let's learn to be ok with the apparent misery
So, then let's learn to be ok with the apparent misery from which we can't escape;
not until we have the strength to open up the tank
and trade our hatch for the birthday plan
into which we were conceived.