If the angel of death would dance with the master of circumstance
If the river of time would find confluence in blood of the wise
We might learn how temporary existence is
Surrender our fate, and find that life is less meaningful
With every breath drawn in, with every death written in
The book of life, or the book of the dead
We have no mastery over destiny
Only how hard we try to create a legacy
Our forward movement is measured, by effort, by persistence
What is there before us that we can do
Where is it written, what is true
The waves of time flood the shore
And time is short, but we still want more
The reaper has sharpened his scythe
God has fully written the book of life
Our truths are wired to our core
But we seek lies, and we accept legends and lore
And we long to know what will forestall doom
We long to know everything
And will, unless the harvest
Comes too soon
All will fall
Time will devour
Time consumes
