We tend to think of ourselves as much more important to the grand cosmic
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Scale of the universe than we truly are. This is not to say that our
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Individual lives are not valued or of importance, but the universe will not
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Tremble at the thought of our passing; Truth exists regardless of our
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Existence, and nothing we can do or say can strip that Truth of it's
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Meaning. At the end of the man's life he faces all he has been, all that he
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Has known. He has traversed the tunnels of nihilism and faith, and found
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Himself facing one final, immutable Truth.
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We've conquered everything, these minds and these machines.
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By our hands the earth stops it's spin, and with our will it begins again.
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But our first breath is as our last. Our first breath is as our last. Our
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First breath is as our last.
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And will the heavens still shine without our gaze?
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And will the seasons still pass if there's no one to count the days?
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We fade like the summer leaves in fall, then drift with the winters wind.
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And still we thought that we were gods, but we're nothing more than a grain
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Of sand in time.
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We've conquered everything, these minds and these machines.
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By our hands the earth stops it's spin, and with our will it begins again.
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But when the mountains turn to dust, and the rivers all run dry,
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When my final breath has come and gone, this place will carry on.
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We are nothing more than grains of sand on the shores of time.
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Seasons
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| A Hope For Home |
