Matters

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Britt A.M.

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Calling out into the crowd 
For the answers to the thoughts I shout out loud
Hoping for a lightning bolt
To ruin or rev this strange revolt I'm somehow in

Clawing at the edges of the definition of the sane 
I'm feeling raw
The glue that held me to the expectation of a normal life
Is no longer sticking

But in the end, none of this will matter
We'll all be piles of rotting flesh, turning into dust
And in the end 
When all of our souls have dispersed
Carried through the air to some foreign place 
None of this will matter
Yet

Here I sit and ponder all the past things set in front of me
While the future sneaks up
On padded feet upon a carpet or a lawn so lush 
That you could ring it out

And soon the minutes turn to years
And you've been captive to your fears, and watering eyes
With one last punch the future comes and tells you that
What's done is done, it's time to say bye

But in the end, none of this will matter
We'll all be piles of rotting flesh 
Turning into dust
And in the end, when all of our souls have dispersed
Carried through the air to some foreign place 
None of this will matter

None of this will matter
None of this will matter
None of this will matter
None of this will matter

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