Life...

Sometimes I stare at the little hand as it tick tick ticks away Wondering where it goes... Why does the big hand remain constant while the little one dances around I don't understand the word why why isn't there a radical meaning...it keeps on going, like time I can't help but think that we're all just ticking away our time When we can't find the meaning we seek to find our own truth. You've got the pen, now write your own story... When you walk through the crowded streets, do you feel like you're home?