Passage
Picturesque in innocence
Tranquil by design
No Earthly cares dissuade
The natural beauty of life
Born without prejudice
Idealistic towards all things
Prospects, indifference
Variance by the day
Like running water circles 'round the drain
Unending cycle manifests with age
Slowly the focus shifts, dreams pass, never sought
The child once vibrant, a grown man long forgot
We wander aimlessly
Grasping at vacant strings
And curse the world for disdain within
Vanity the mirror holds
An abode to dwell alone
Rendering existence
A whimper
What usurper time
To thieve away your youthfulness, and mind
A trace of dust, swept from the lens
To drift away
Years stream by
Clutching to hopes left unfulfilled
Striving vainly only to watch them die
What point in being if only to serve and suffer?
As lowly cogs worked to death for their greed
Culture misconstruing what bears worth
Your possessions mean nothing
A fine balance irrevocably sways
To crush all feelings of youth
Salt your tongue, and grow old
Lines cover my face, my soul
The days are quickening
Soon the grave shall call
What is my answer?
Tranquil by design
No Earthly cares dissuade
The natural beauty of life
Born without prejudice
Idealistic towards all things
Prospects, indifference
Variance by the day
Like running water circles 'round the drain
Unending cycle manifests with age
Slowly the focus shifts, dreams pass, never sought
The child once vibrant, a grown man long forgot
We wander aimlessly
Grasping at vacant strings
And curse the world for disdain within
Vanity the mirror holds
An abode to dwell alone
Rendering existence
A whimper
What usurper time
To thieve away your youthfulness, and mind
A trace of dust, swept from the lens
To drift away
Years stream by
Clutching to hopes left unfulfilled
Striving vainly only to watch them die
What point in being if only to serve and suffer?
As lowly cogs worked to death for their greed
Culture misconstruing what bears worth
Your possessions mean nothing
A fine balance irrevocably sways
To crush all feelings of youth
Salt your tongue, and grow old
Lines cover my face, my soul
The days are quickening
Soon the grave shall call
What is my answer?
Credits
Writer(s): Michael Osborn
Lyrics powered by www.musixmatch.com
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