Letras
In the darkness of the night
Only occasionally relieved by glimpses of Nirvana
As seen through other people's windows
Wallowing in a morass of self-despair
Made only more painful by the knowledge
That all I am is of my own making
When everything around me, even the kitchen ceiling
Has collapsed and crumbled without warning
And I am left, standing alive and wellㅤ
Looking up and wondering why and wherefore
At a time like this, which exists maybe only for me
But is nonetheless real, if I can communicate
And in the telling and the bearing of my soul
Anything is gained, even though the words
Which I use are pretentious and make you cringe
With embarrassment, let me remind you of the pilgrim
Who asked for an audience with the Dalai Lama
He was told he must first spend five years in contemplation
After the five years
He was ushered into the Dalai Lama's presence, who said
Well, my son, what do you wish to know?
So the pilgrim said
I wish to know the meaning of life, father
So the Dalai Lama smiled and said
Well my son, life is like a beanstalk, isn't it?
Held close by that which some despise
Which some call fake, and others, lies
And somewhat small for one so tall
A doubting Thomas, who would be?
It's written plain for all to see
For one who I am with no more
It's hard at times, it's awful raw
They say that Jesus healed the sick and helped the poor
And those unsure believed his eyes
A strange disguise
Still write it down, it might be read
Nothing's better left unsaid
Only sometimes, still no doubt
It's hard to see, it all works out