Where do I find the time,
to get out of this cultural grind?
Grindin’ up my soul,
locking my hands behind,
I can complain,
say that life is rough,
but when I’m stranded and silenced,
I have no time for ambivalence.
Peering through the darkness,
looking for that straight and narrow path.
There’s a place for catharsis,
a release – a cleansing bath.
It’s not about who gets the farthest.
It’s simply about finding the road.
Or you can let yourself corrode,
lose hope and be trashed by the waves,
of ever changing whims of the masses,
with nothing to believe you’ll become slaves,
and when you approach your dying graves,
You’ll wish you had walked your own path.