we all live in a fake perception of a common commodity;
That life can be whatever we make it,
That we can control our destiny,
Choose whatever we want to do.
Life makes us whatever it wants,
Maybe that’s even a fake perception—
Maybe we’re all planted to be harvested someday—
Maybe one day, all will be clearer,
When we lie in deep slumber
And our dusts are thrown to the air
Into the furthermost quantum.