For this life,

Stumbling struggle,

A game with an for certain whatever,

Call it what you like.

They proclaim the choice is ours,

To gasp a breath of our own,

Descendant from beyond the senses,

Predetermend where to fall.

To fall from grace,

To fall in love,

To fall up straight,

And into you all.

Whether be the right place,

At a right time,

Or a time in thought of incorrection,

Resurrects to your own belief.

For the months be days,

And Years be months,

Comprendo timely evil ways.

Yet fear around the closest corner,

The inconceivable yesteryear,

Failure in conscious,

The ancestry stroll created,

Literally,

The past be our own blood.

Take it as you will,

To not remember,

Means nothing.