Oh, miserable love
And beloved misery
What is the meaning of it all?
Why do I feel the cold sting of malice on my heart every night?
And the warm embrace of twisted wretchedness in the day?
Why do I walk, or run, or breathe?
Why do any of us walk, or run, or breathe?
When love can tear us down so bitterly
And misery can give us purpose?
Why do you go on?
Why should I go on?
I am just a man,
This is just a piece of paper,
And you are just a reader
But what does it mean?
Oh, miserable love
And beloved misery
Why do they go on?
Why would she go on?
Why should he go on?
What is there to go on to?
Why would they want to?
So many questions
And no answers
It is the life of the questioner
And the curse of those who are too late
To answer.