Half of the people who ever lived are still alive.
There's no escaping that everyone dies.
Despite our dreams and our cries,
It's just a crazy mystic shuck and jive.

Can't remember your own birth.
Can't imagine your own death.
It's a deep, slow cleansing breath.
Take it for what it's worth.

Living is an art ill applied,
But it's all we've got.
From a barrel like blasting shot
It scatters us far and wide.

There is no just turning back,
No time when things were better,
From the homeless to a jet setter,
In a mansion or a hapless shack.

And who can dispute such charity?
"All that, that is, is," he said.
Like all, who were, were ... he's dead.
Like us, who have, have … no clarity.

In this dead world dancing ... there's no winners.
Whatever lies beyond, lies beyond, we can't go.
Though one returned they say, we'll never know.
It's a world of dreamers: dazed, worn-out sinners.

He forgave me everything. Oh how I loved him.
She taught me so, so much. Oh how I should have told her.
We were friends forever. Oh how I miss you.
So many things left unsaid. Oh how I could have said them.

Imagine.

Half of the people who ever lived are still alive.
There's no escaping that everyone dies.
Despite our dreams and our cries,
It's just a crazy mystic shuck and jive.

Remember, whatever we did and tried,
Half of the people who ever lived ...
... have never died.

06/22/2012

Posted on 11/08/2014
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