It is a shame to see how fast and easily
We deteriorate our soul mindlessly
Becoming slaves to greed and selfishness
In this never-ending struggle to find happiness…
So why do I even bother to repair broken swords
Of fallen warriors on too many battlefields?
Why do I try passionately to develop a theory
If there is always another version of the story?
It would have been simpler just to follow,
Not to interfere in the outlook of this hollow,
Troubled, even impossible human race
But my conscience could not erase
The past that reveled me a diabolic side
Of the ones that cover their tears with a smile
And keep pushing our lives to the edge
Just to have their vile revenge
Although the same questions remained inside…
So why do I pretend I have answers
When all I have are accusations?
Why do I try to fight an enemy
When all I can see in this fog is me?
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