[ the end. ]

[ the end. ]


the world is a confusing haze sometimes;
up is down and down is up
and 'turn left' almost always mean 'go right'.

there is brief respite in these crazy years
the changing views and pent up fears
how nothing ever seems to work out, and you say:

but things turn out okay in the end,
but things turn out okay in the end.

there are times i've wanted to break down
to cry, to die, to try for anything but this
these years are nauseating, overwhelming.

music, the cliché relief, has many times
rocked me to sleep, some wordless lullaby,
that seemed to somehow try to say:

but things turn out okay in the end,
but things turn out okay in the end.

we wrestle with our own inconsistancies
each turning into a social fatality in which
case we are left to our own devices;

the air we breathe is thick, technicolour
spots of suffocation permeate our vision, and
somewhere we get a breath of air and we say:

but things will turn out okay in the end,
but things will turn out okay in the end.