It is thy will that i should sit and wither,
forget the world that adorns my window of glass,
sit in solace and brashly shiver.
And at thy pleasure sip my drink and rust like dated brass.
It is thy will, that i should love or opposing that hate.
That my hearts door be a wasteland, or a suburban street.
Thy will barter with life under oath of torcher until hour of late.
And that poorness of mind shall be blighted with nothing too eat.
If it be thy will, that i choose this or that,
i shall sell my ambition in the beer garden,
and let dull failure grow like a fat cat.
with this, despair and sorrow i shall wear without pardon.
If thy will were drowned in the black abyss of despair...
many a man have done so, shielded themselves too long.
would insanity save misery, and render no repair.
or would a higher golden plain be seen, and sung a joyous song.
The questions rise the answers will eventually fall,
a sarcophagus may entomb, maybe not.
the heavens seem like endless liberty, but too me do not call.
It is thy will, and like a lover i take heed and decide i will not be forgot.
