So if I left, would it disappear?
The slight banner of disastrous steps to the tier?
Now left behind like barren land,
how could East of Eden ever provide for a man?
So if I not, but burnt it hot,
the fiery promises escapades won't stop...
But promises, hey! -what shall I say?
Has wind and rain now yield to me?
But if you say the dice is thrown,
and if you say all chances are sown...
I stand but for a moment still,
and in thine eyes I sense no victorious thrill!
For sure as man one day shall die,
if he himself is full measure he swiftly should say goodbye!
I'd think I would be better off,
in the hope that my name's letters were gained in the tough!
To the wind and the rain, for it all was design,
if not the rock holds it's own mindless mind!
Or what would the waves tell you if you asked them your worth?
For so many a man was killed by the surfs.
The chance and the surf has this one thing to share,
they won't cut off the time for those no longer here.
For time and chance provided, it all was decided,
the meaning of random forever be fired.
So if he then lost, against a worthy cause,
where then could the strider again find a provider?
For much as it feels like when surf hits the sand,
if aims are missed it is sad like lost land.
And if it is lost for this moment in time,
it means that the intent was for it to be mine!
In spite of the gone, the head be held high,
as a soldier till he comes home or dies.
The only thing pondered quite simply is this:
that if we have feelings, then who did us kiss?
and if we have aims, then who sets the games?
and if then we miss, is it like tumbling sand in a little kid's pile and no bigger bliss?
For if the evolvement was right,
the rational would have developed the irrational and the day could be night!
And sure as the sane is sure not insane,
I lay on man's destiny forever a claim!
For if all this was given to me and to you,
then there is more than the random in the clouds and the blue!
And that's what then hurts when the arrow's too low,
that there is no such thing as "random" for the angle of the bow!
By days to come I'd much like to see,
the lines and bearings, the paths of the free.
For many strolls in the dark of the woods,
raise your glasses!
For them all to be past in our wishes like ashes!
For more days graciously delivered,
and sunlight on hills over hills we can bear.
Men of the free, attach your loyalty,
raise your sceptres,
all we all long for cometh here after!
I'm sorry if tears felt like bruises to the faint,
but no one are dead while there's still blood running in his wains!
Please give me more of the wine in that toast,
for the days we shall live and no past to boast!