Rock green-blue floats in the sky.

Does it spin for nothing; or keeps hope alive?

When a speck breathes; whom decides to care?

When a speck dies; is he really there?

Fighting for rocks to power great things.

Is it worth all the pain?

The great ones have said yes and made it so.

Why should one toil, no one seems to know.

The heart will beat, decades will pass.

The heart’s beat will stop, it will never last.

Gathered around to see ones deeds.

Is that what a dead soul truly needs?