We pretend to run real fast,
Though we toil away in circles
And the bad men do catch us,
No matter the cash inside our buckles
Certain things, you cannot buy,
Some tales are better left unwritten
The harder you grind away,
Does not mean that you're winning
Lifetimes go by, in blinks of pupils,
Old skin fades fast in setting suns
Tell me again how you won the world,
When really you just found some crumbs
The art of running in place is ancient,
Yet, new inventors always grab the wheel
They believe that they are God or Picasso,
Instead they just had too much espresso
No comments:
Post a Comment