What value is profit if gains are from another's loss
When the sky gets dark one becomes restless and unsure
Everything that comes feels like a threat
To everything known or desired
Startled awake in the night alone and afraid
Panic of life when afraid to die
What makes me stumble through this life
As if; I was afraid to love
Life that is not mine but flows through
For what is born is certain to die
What it profit a man if he lies his way
Across a planet and never cries?
For the children never born
To enjoy the day, even though
Doomed to die? Who am i to begrudge
life's rush, the dawns flush, every day
What matters is not "our" life,
but our capacity to love it,
the other, easier
you, than me
I wonder why.
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