Trip

"Life shouldn't seem like a trip from the maternity ward to the crematorium"

It's 370 BC in Athens, a kid plays under dim lights

It seemed like one of those long January nights,

He was seventeen when it all occured to him

Barely on his own, he'd just gotten a grip

He talks himself into, setting out on a trip.

Pursuing "The trail", a trail with no trace.

With a flame in his heart, and just enough grace

With absolutely no plans, and nothing to lose

He started, by building castles in the air

A small step on the path of "Why I am here"

Often resting his feet, but never his thoughts

He thought of the underworlds and the gods,

He didn't quiet like the idea, a little further he walked

Here they changed the gods, fought a little too much

Also they believed, you'll die if a certain someone touched.

They shed blood, to get to the top

A place so lonely, only they can tell it's flop.

Despite the danger, everyone wants to get there

Sit themselves on the thrones

declare themselves as gods.

Bored of all the stains, he thought

The question still is unanswered, maybe he also should have fought

He reached a canopy, could see some light from above

Here he met people who were slightly subtle

They believed, heaven or hell it's all here to settle.

A bunch of maniacs labelled as "radicals"

with blasphemous ideas, that were pragmatical

They called their work "science"

Some got beheaded, some surely lived on

Everyone hated them until they could build a better weapon

This man had had enough, he set out for a better path

for the quest he set out on, he's only found wrath

This morning he knocked on my door, asked if god is still here

He was absolutely surprised when I told him

No sir, It's only a matter of faith here.

You see this man, had seen it all

from the rise of empires, to their fall

He smirked at everything like he didn't care

He understood everybody but himself

Like the eyes that see everything but themselves

All he wanted was a place to sit and think

Away from all the noise and the bloody red ink.

Why we are here, like fungus on a tiny rock

A tiny rock that's floating in space

Why're we fighting over gods, for reasons with no base.

The narrative has changed, the trip is over

There is more to life than this, said the explorer.

He made me realize how small I was

Imagine, that's how small you become,

When you ask someone's religion.