The Conflict can only be matched by a conflict.
Tell me, does the world look at me,
and do I look at it, through the same lenses?
Is it the age that pulls me, or do I have a pull on it?
Oh you beautiful thing, Is it you whom I see,
Or is it the dress you wear?
Of what use are the drops of my soul that cloud my eyes?
If you suddenly go away, Do I go away from you?
Dreams of you, in the dreams of solitude, convince you to be mine.
Is it me who has stopped,
Or is it the world that has let me off?
Love, the word, is convoluted.
By Intelligence and Arrogance,
By Society and Piety,
By Selfishness and Selflessness.