Past, Present, Future...
Life, Death, a never ending circle.
The singsong hole consumes us all,
Dragging us down, down down.
Farther we allow ourselves to go,
Until we're buried miles below the surface
Of our lies, and frankly, who we really are.
We take for granted what we have,
Only seeing what we want.
Staring at the closed door for so long,
We do not realize the window that's open
Just beside us.