We are all broken
We seek some mystic perfection we can't even define
We are all lost
We think we get it, but we don't... and we won't
I guess it's all a play pretend
We walk around supposedly living our lives
We are nothing but particles floating by
We are nothing but dust
Why do we strive to be remembered?
History is written by strangers
Strangers like those who've made it
Why are we eager to accomplish something?
Is it because we have seeds to grow?
We think we will get to reap
But then we get too busy
To busy to tend those things
We neglect our seeds
They die
They leave
We are too tired to say goodbye
And then we lose our soul
But what do we lose if we are nothing but dust?
We engage in the business of moving on
We try to save prestige and reputation
To please a silent audience
A cold and absent audience
When we've already failed at love
What else is there to follow?
Simply, there's no reason
To move on
Dust just floats
To move on to what?
to something worse?
You can't un-break a heart
You cant resuscitate a broken soul
We can't change
It's all been written
We are all broken
We seek some mystic glory we made up ourselves
As if someone was out there waiting
But there isn't
We get creative but not productive
We are all bored
We are nothing but air
We are nothing but dust
Dust doesn't love
It doesn't grow
