A word on your lips,
alive and then dead.
Through the wind blows,
pages already read.

Light and then dark,
no more can you see.
We all leave our mark,
and then hope we are free.

A blank book to start,
then filled with our life.
We all play our part,
through trouble and strife.

Who do we blame
for the problems we bare?
When fate takes our lives,
and places it there.

Like the whoosh of the trees
we hear the wind call.
It tells us its stories
before we all fall.

For the sky and the heavens
and the ground at our feet.
Before the light darkens,
and our lives are complete.

The world is our heart
and the arts are our soul.
An end and a start,
and with this we are whole.