So many, so shallow, so often,
These are the lives we make
To ease, to scorn, to spite, to soften
The pain of each days wake.
But these, too, are sure to not suffice
If they are so heartless.
A longer plot, though it lacks the spice,
In truth lights the darkness.
Do it right; do it deep; do it real;
These are the lives we make
To listen, to love, to live, to feel.
Just give yourself a break.

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