We live, as if we have
forever.
As if we are promised tomorrow.
But indeed,
nothing is promised.
Absolutely, nothing.
Living life is like being born
all alone,
You stand on shifting sand,
Nothing’s written in stone.
Nothing is promised,
absolutely, nothing.
Nothing is promised,
nothing is sure.
Nobody’s perfect,
nobody’s pure.
Say what?
I said, life’s the type of flow I like.
Nothing ever lives up to the hype.
Open your heart,
Open your soul.
You better get ready
Cause pain’s the goal.
Juxtaposed atop creation
exists a torture chamber called
Life.
A spot within which it gets
very, very hot.
Emotional turmoil’s the norm,
passionate commitment’s the
perfect storm we’re all searching for.
Oppositional entities they seem to be:
passion’s lifecycle a pheromonic tonic!
Commitment’s inculcation,
a mental creation!
Coexisting concomitantly,
smitten, we be,
by each other,
unfortunately.
Nothing is promised,
nothing is sure.
Nobody’s perfect,
nobody’s pure.
Perhaps a perfect love
only comes from above.
Maybe you and me
weren’t meant to be.
All this drama we live and love
is nothing compared to God above.
The realization of the transient nature
of human relations is a mandatory
benchmark of Incarnation.
The strife we put each other through
is why you came back for me
and why I came back for you.
Two thousand and twenty seven
lifetimes ago,
I broke your heart because you
couldn’t let me flow.
In the meantime and in between time
we avoided each other’s karma,
as if dharma wasn’t applicable.
Right living, right thinking,
and the correct and proper actions
are the redaction of sin.
Where our love ends,
and our transcention of the world
begins.
Living life is like being born
all alone,
You stand on shifting sand
nothing’s written in stone.
Nothing is promised,
nothing is sure.
Nobody’s perfect,
nobody’s pure.
Living life is like being born
all alone,
You stand on shifting sand
nothing’s written in stone.
Nothing is promised,
nothing is sure.
Nobody’s perfect,
nobody’s pure.
Nothing is promised,
absolutely, nothing.
forever.
As if we are promised tomorrow.
But indeed,
nothing is promised.
Absolutely, nothing.
Living life is like being born
all alone,
You stand on shifting sand,
Nothing’s written in stone.
Nothing is promised,
absolutely, nothing.
Nothing is promised,
nothing is sure.
Nobody’s perfect,
nobody’s pure.
Say what?
I said, life’s the type of flow I like.
Nothing ever lives up to the hype.
Open your heart,
Open your soul.
You better get ready
Cause pain’s the goal.
Juxtaposed atop creation
exists a torture chamber called
Life.
A spot within which it gets
very, very hot.
Emotional turmoil’s the norm,
passionate commitment’s the
perfect storm we’re all searching for.
Oppositional entities they seem to be:
passion’s lifecycle a pheromonic tonic!
Commitment’s inculcation,
a mental creation!
Coexisting concomitantly,
smitten, we be,
by each other,
unfortunately.
Nothing is promised,
nothing is sure.
Nobody’s perfect,
nobody’s pure.
Perhaps a perfect love
only comes from above.
Maybe you and me
weren’t meant to be.
All this drama we live and love
is nothing compared to God above.
The realization of the transient nature
of human relations is a mandatory
benchmark of Incarnation.
The strife we put each other through
is why you came back for me
and why I came back for you.
Two thousand and twenty seven
lifetimes ago,
I broke your heart because you
couldn’t let me flow.
In the meantime and in between time
we avoided each other’s karma,
as if dharma wasn’t applicable.
Right living, right thinking,
and the correct and proper actions
are the redaction of sin.
Where our love ends,
and our transcention of the world
begins.
Living life is like being born
all alone,
You stand on shifting sand
nothing’s written in stone.
Nothing is promised,
nothing is sure.
Nobody’s perfect,
nobody’s pure.
Living life is like being born
all alone,
You stand on shifting sand
nothing’s written in stone.
Nothing is promised,
nothing is sure.
Nobody’s perfect,
nobody’s pure.
Nothing is promised,
absolutely, nothing.
