You ask
"What is the quality...
Of life?"
Seeking to justify
The part you play.
And hide
Fearing it incomplete
To try
To make it any more or less
Than short and sweet.
But short,
Short is from you to me
As close
As we are wont to try
To make it be.
We're caught
Watching the darkening skies
Who knows?
Helpless as time itself
To hold the time of day.
And you
You are a fantasy
A view
From where you'd like to think
The world should see
Be true
And you will likely find
A few
Building a vision new
And justice to our time.
And we,
We the immoral men
We dare
Naked and fearless in the elements
And free,
Carefree of tempting fate
Aware
And holding off
The moral nightmare at the gates.
And sweet,
Sweet as a mountain stream
We look
Towards a new day
Breaking in the east
And meet
As every future dream...
Unfolds
And surely quality
That is the very least.
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