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Whose Likeness is carved in Stone?
I’m tired of delusions of greatness
The belief it will come from within us
Fame and fortune are neither fun nor fantastic
The entire world’s history is spastic
How far will fame go in the next hundred years?
Will it be worth our blood and our tears?
I want to be old and done with these sentiments
I hate being young and filled with this arrogance
Who will we be in a hundred years?
Who will we be in a thousand years?
Who will we be in a million years?
When I get old I’ll be able to put it in perspective
Everyone dies, death is not selective
Nothing is immortal, not even for fame
Especially not for our name
We wish for our name to live forever
Without recognition, what is there to live for?
Youth is a curse, a strive and chase for flawed ambitions
I’m already sick from false first connotations
All we really want to do is get laid
Who needs difference making, when no difference can be made?