The illusion of perfection when no one is proud

I never saw myself burning in the flames of the fire

Neither did I imagine climbing a hill having no hope

I never saw myself pushing and squeezing and forcing

For something already broken before even created

For something that needed damage in order to be fixed

The battle that’s in front of us needs to be fought

In order to make a journey we must have a suitcase

To be filled with desire, with memories, with taste

Of an unforgettable incomparable and irreversible time   

When mornings were bloomy and nights were bright

But light needs darkness and pleasure needs sorrow

So thunder filled the air and all that’s left was tomorrow

Tomorrow, when the task asks for a beginning to be made

In order to obtain respect and pride we all need to work

Ideas must fill the air, the illusion of originality exists

What is the function of perfection when no one is proud

For creation is cumulative and completion cannot be found

This world is filled with insecurities that need to be smashed

That need to be cursed and damaged like the flesh of a deer

Since no hero ever gave up and so must society as we know it

I have always done what was expected for the ultimate goal

What a delusion when goals are meant to be shifted away

I have always performed for myself in order to win respect

Only for me since the people are placed in a position of power

But what’s the use of winning when the competition is you

I have often wondered what it was that I had to do

Burning and running and falling and rising back up in the air

To once be a tower standing solid between the comfort of clouds

Or wondering wise why we do what we do and what’s to be found

And standing with my tiny feet between all the others on the ground