Mother says, stories change and people grow. Nothing stays the same.
Everything expires including you and your woe, so what can you actually proclaim?
Always searching for something timeless when everything just turns to dust.
It's about the movement, what inspires you now, that helps you adjust.
You can't re-write history but you can write your future, even if it is only temporary.
A snapshot in time is still beautiful even though it always varies.
We are all singing new songs, in our souls, that go under the radar
To the ears and to our lips, they all sound so bizarre.
Lost in translation most of the time from this world from the next,
Listen now or get strung up later is how we pay our respects.
What are you singing, deep in your soul? The unconscious ever-turning wheel,
Why does it even matter, what it is on a daily basis that I feel?
Can I go in and edit this masochistic array of stubborn thoughts on my helpless mind,
Or to act on them is the only way that I am inevitably resigned?
Some you can edit, some you can't, and if you want it badly enough, you should
To make those thoughts align with how you truly feel would do you some good.
Reach out and ask for help from the professionals you know and love,
And beg for forgiveness while you purge yourself of all the thoughts that you want to dispose of.
But if there are flecks of gold that are too stubborn to go away,
You must listen to yourself, that deep inner voice, that's too strong to stray.
You can't always trust it, that's why you must let them all out to dry.
See if it stands the barrage of argumental debate while you say your goodbyes.