I one time dreamed a dream wherein I walked within an open field,

where every step a memory was, and every breath was poignant filled.

I saw each day I ever lived, they all bled slowly into one.

Each opportunity to give now stood a moment left undone.

I saw each thing I ever owned and tried so hard to justify,

but every effort woeful fell and I was left to wonder why.

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I must have wished a thousand times
that somehow we could live our lives
for something more.

And I can’t help but wonder why
we strive to keep so much in line,
what is it for?

Can’t you see we spend our time
building what we call “The Grind”,
finding ways to numb the pain it causes.

Blind leading the blind.

Can’t you see we spend our time
building what we call “The Grind”.
What...

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In the middle of life there’s a moment of still.

Reminiscing, regretting, “Is there point in it all?”

Looking out in both ways from the top of the hill

as I tumble and shrink to an infinite small.

For I know forever has no end of days,

it leaves me to contemplate just who I am?

And I know that size never ends in both ways,

when you sit in infinity, is there a plan

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You can buy land and home

across this world made of stone,

gathering more into barns than the rest.

You can travel and see

every sight there may be

under Heaven from East to the West.

You can spend every day

finding more ways to pay,

grabbing all you can possibly get.

But remember there’s something

worth far more than these…

to die without any...

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Depression and heartache and yearning -

common throughout all the years,

general amongst all the masses,

driven by so many fears.

It’s truly the struggle of ages,

despite born of mansion or cave.

Is life the thing that you’re living,

or is it life that you crave?

It's tied to a question so simple -

just what do you live your life for?

Do you live to live in ...

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Have you ever come to the end of the day,

and can run the clock back play by play,

and can add it up that supposedly

it was the day it was suppose to be,

but somehow it seems that no time has gone

like a broken record playing on and on,

and you think back through all the things you’ve done -

every day every deed bleeding into one,

and you can’t help but feel just a little ...

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