For many years, he searched for someone
He could never find;
No definite conception
Could he form in heart, or mind
Of who or what he really was —
The soul behind the mess —
For what’s a man, or who,
When all he is, is
Emptiness?
For many years, he searched for someone
He could never find;
No definite conception
Could he form in heart, or mind
Of who or what he really was —
The soul behind the mess —
For what’s a man, or who,
When all he is, is
Emptiness?
Beautiful words my friend, but so sad.
A quiet voice. Makes me want to rush in and fix things. But it is truth.