The sun rises and sets,
The world rotates around itself,
The birds migrate to the south,
Of that I have no doubt.
When it's dark, the lights will come on,
The rain pours whenever it pleases,
People sleep from dust to dawn,
Except those with excuses.
The grass grows, the clouds form,
Waves crash, all that is norm.
The fated die, the lucky live,
The takers take and the givers give,
Lives will go on, blissfully unaware,
With their passive or aggressive stance,
And not a soul could notice or care
Of my feeble and impact-less existence.
I can't go on.
