Why do we do the things we have to do?
What is it that makes us begin again
When each day just brings promises anew,
Of burdens, struggles and of toils and pain.
The easy way out is the darker path,
To take the thing that you were given once
When you lay floating in your mother's bath,
Before you came and grew to be a dunce.
Why did we do the things that we have done?
That now we cannot change or rearrange,
And all the jokes that at the time were fun,
But now we see were cruel and something strange.
We all wake up and greet another day,
As though it weren't impossible to stay.
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