I have it all yet I am penniless,
I dream it all but I am still dreamless,
Is this awkward or what? Is it or is it not?
Well I still seek an answer more explicit.

I feel it all and yet I am numb,
I know it all and yet I am dumb,
Is this a deja-vous or what? Is it or is it not?
I seem to surpass this experience too often.

I see it all and yet I am blind,
I enjoy it all and yet I am still not glad,
Is this a curse or my habit? Is it or is it not?
I fear that I might die before I find a cure.

Cure for this despicable disease,
this self-made treacherous life.
The cure can be found in me,
but I guess like everyone else,
I am depending on someone else to find it,
I am not afraid of finding the secret…
Or am I it?

It’s these damned questions that complicate,
My treachery puts chills on my fresh wound.
It’s this sense of ethics, that keeps my conscience alive,
Otherwise, I could live happily in this cold-blooded world.
Gone on with life when my sanity was gone with the wind.

Why does there have to be an explanation,
and why does there have to be complication?
What is the need of what, when, why, and how?
Isn’t life extremely complicated itself?

Desire leads us to this.
Desire is suffering.
Well, desire is life,
life cannot be desireless,
then it won’t be life.

But if life cannot be full of desire,
then it wouldn’t be life,
it would be hell.
It’s the middle,
life’s a riddle,
and if you care,
then please, solve mine?