Life goes something like this:
Life goes something like this:
As the store clerks unionize
And the people fight to live
While the wealthy watch from their high horses,
The police gunning the crowd point-blank;
Youll find the love is there.
Nothing changes, no-one is saved,
As always with too much against it,
But it still matters that it was there.
Life goes something like this:
As you grow up from those childhood inhibitions
You wonder if everything is intentional.
What if dancing with your friends, late into the night
Matters equally as much as the groceries needing to be done?
What if dressing in bright colours, cutting your hair, singing into the wind,
Makes a stranger want to join you and be free, if only for a moment?
What if someone made soup for you?
What if tears were sacred?
What if its all love?
Life goes something like this:
The seasons change as always
You leave your house in the early morning,
Feeling a cool breeze passing through you.
You reckon, in that moment,
That sometimes all it takes
Is one cool wind, flowing like water
To help you believe in the possibility
Of living a full life, a great one of your own design,
And suddenly you understand what it means to be alive.
Life goes something like this:
A friend calls, asks about seeing an orchestra.
You have never been, unsure of what such music brings you,
You decide to agree.
The lights dim
a warm calm washes over you
The instruments pick up, lightest to heaviest
A cacophony of sound expertly and carefully designed
To surround you in its embrace
To bring to life colours and memories you havent seen in years.
The instruments pick up, lightest to heaviest,
And for a moment, you think,
You question whether the magic you stopped believing in
when you were eleven,
Does exist in some form after all.
Life goes something like this:
You meet the best and the worst of yourself
In the form of other people,
Some stay, some go, neither permanent.
You come to terms that you are the universe experiencing itself,
Exploring the forests as a child, hopping over creeks,
Walking the streets of your hometown, glancing through shop windows.
You become overwhelmed at 3 a.m
In the dark of your room in bed
Re-thinking interactions of the day; feeling those connections all over again.
You get what you give hoping to know how to give more the next time.
Then, come the morning,
You do it all over again,
All over again,
All over again.