No place to go, nothing to do
Nothing ventured but no need to gain
Busy as a mark of existence,to prove I’m worthy
Why do people cling to there lives for all its worth?
It isn’t measurable by sweat,blood and tears
How good we are or should of been
None of it matters, the soul doesn’t mind
I sit and chant while you toil away in a job you hate trying to be heard and seen
Bread without the butter
When the final curtain falls and your buried deep in the earth
Who cares, they might for a while but like the seasons you will be forgotten…
So.I am present but nothing to do.