As I walk the pavement grinds under my feet,
I journey to where intent and destination meet,
A fine summer day, journeying to fall,
What, oh what,
Is the point of it all?
It all crumbles underneath,
And yet our sword we will not sheathe,
Madness has overcome our race,
And we just worry about our place,
There is still time; we are not done,
We must stop focusing on the one.