My tears of sorrow, the perfect life.
That of which i seek, impairs my ability.
To judge, To choose, To decide.
My happy life is that of a dream.
One in which i am clear as day, nothing is but what it looks.
One is One, deception is not of existence.
Something for-told, to seek vengeance of the hard sorrow.
What i seek is that of an obsolete existence.
There is no perfection in this life of which the world wakes.
Impaired as i seem, driven by my own fantasy.
How do i find what i desire?
Desire is for those who wish to accomplish.
What is life?
Why is the meaning so unclear?
Life as we know it is so common.
The sickening thought of wandering that your doing something already done.
What is life?

 
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