Search
Close this search box.

As our finite fingers grope
as we reach for a star
we come back empty handed
and realise its really too far

Is there gold at the end of the rainbow
as all I found was mud
they say there’s love in our heart
all I found was blood

So, man stumbles on
mundane, day to day
with clumsy big feet
getting in the way

High ideals and dreams
discarded for now
what’s the point in worrying
anyhow?