There are no new wells
To be dug every day.
Or no fresh trees left
To be cut.
No places to explore
Or names to forget.
A fistful of heart.
A handful of brains and
A tattered soul that's
Never satisfied.
No matter how deep
We fall or how high
Is our flight. We always
End in ourselves.
Tragedies. Comedies.
All the drama, dread.
We're our own
Sunshine, and rain.