In the dust of the end
You can see the beginning,
But never in the dawn of a day
Can you see how it’ll finish.
And it doesn’t seem fair,
That the end makes sense of the journey;
But you know that only the last line
Will ever make sense of a story.
Because as long as it’s going,
It can still be changed
But once it has reached its finish,
It is done never to be done again.
You can not rewrite the story.
At least not the same,
But you can learn from your mistakes
To never make them again.
Still you fall and you’ll fail.
We all do, we’re all human.
Darling, it was never about being perfect,
But it was about being truthful
So write down truth.
Write it in blood if you must,
Write about anger, and passion with lust,
For them to know what you’re made of!