One Day, I'll be Dead.
And on That Day, I'll Ask Myself:
"Did I Really Live?"
Did I Ride the Open Road?
Did I Fall In Love?
Was it a Great Fall, Fast, Hard, Intense and Strong? And When it Was Over, Were we Gone Our Separate Ways By Morning Day?
Did I Hold Up in the Air
Not my Middle Finger But Another Girl's Hand War Paint on my Face As I Shouted for Peace? And Demanded Freedom?
Did I Scream My Name
To the Mountains on the Horizons, Just Because I Could and There was no one to Stop me?
Did I Feel
Something in my Chest? A Pounding, a Drive, a Burning Fire? Did it Take my Breath Away, And Fill my Lungs at the Same Time?
Did I Write A Story
With Twists and Turns One That Would be an Example Of Exactly What You Shouldn't do, But in a way, Absolutely Needed to do.
Did I Come to Love The World?
And Make it My Own?
Or Did it Own me?
Did I Turn Bitter and Broken, at a Desk from Nine to Five Dreams Tossed Aside Forgotten?
There Will Come a Day, When I am Gone.
And on That Day, I Will Look Back and Smile. For I Will Have Lived.