Trapped by a dream of our own making
Living a life ruled only by fantasy
Nothing tastes sweet
Once the addiction has turned sour.
Warring against a feeling,
Which has never been named.
Struggling with ourselves,
We loose no matter which side wins.
Chasing after the future
As if it was a treasure,
Like trying to fight the air
Of a dreary afternoon.
We can have all we want
But become worse by the having.
The hardest poison to taste
Are those we feed ourselves.
Four fingers and a thumb,
Are they helping or fisted?
It is not always easy to tell,
When the hand is our own.
As the Preacher says
All is useless under the sun
So let us turn from it
And find our use in the Son.
A call always there, a knock always at the door,
Maybe tomorrow it will be easier to answer.
Always asking for one more day to make the choice,
Even after the time has ran out.