From dusk to dawn, fall to spring - ones motive is clear, yet the picture is unseen.
A wide array of tints, sizes, faults,
No one is ever certain when it's time to call it off.

With faces hiding tears of uncertainty,
The darkness never fails to feel like obscurity.

The body count is low compared to the dozens more,
Who wish to be counted as something more?

Yes, the idealistic, materialistic, realistic truths;
One by one they all bring us to the tomb.

All one wants is to be known,
All one wants is to be alive.

Somewhere during the day,
Somewhere during the night,
Someone somewhere will be sure to leave a mark that bears no name.


One too many heads hang in shame,
But leave it to society to:
Poke,
Prod,
And pick at the uncertainty of the growing mind.

Yet all we hear, see, and know is that to feel
Empty is the greatest joy.


From dusk to dawn, fall to spring - I will always feel that:
This heart is a prisoner, this body is a cage