Call Me Opinionated

We are the leaves,changing with the seasons.
Like another species,
waiting to be wiped off the earth, erased.

Playing in the midst of chance and karma.
What's worse,
sitting around and waiting,
or failing at everything you try at?
Some pray, some don't eat,
and some wait, not so patiently; to be erased.

Aren't we all just casted out?
Not for any reason, except for the right to live life.
I haven't yet met anyone who doesn't question God.
The old man, everyone is talking about;
sitting in his rocker, watching the play we put on.
In the tales, it never changes,
there's always the same situations.
Walking in that righteous path, well I'll be one of the first to say, fuck it.
Feel free to quote me on that, sir.

Some sit on their perch, some inflict force, and some just wait.

At some point,
we all wish death would eat us away,
scream our name, then for it all to be over.
The simple things that go wrong won't cause this.
You'll know, death has a certain feeling.
The sense of knowing you want to end, overwhelming.

Some think so highly,
some believe,
and some insist it's too good to be true.
The dead; we'll never see again.
The tales; just dusty myths.
Him; just someones fairytale in glamored colour.