Each man creates
The thing that he hates
It rises up from a well deep within him
Each man sedates
The thing that he forsakes
That it may no longer torture or forgive him
All men are crude
There is no “Golden Rule”
Men are creatures of darkness and of night
Kindness is a waste
Power has its own grace
Let the powerless suffer their self-inflicted torment
Sadness is man’s fate
Why bother to complain
A life filled with joy would be too fulfilling
Each man makes
And when he is ready he breaks
His bonds, his word and his promises
Men do not love
For love is truly a drug
And It is better to never love than to have loved and lost.
The thing that he hates
It rises up from a well deep within him
Each man sedates
The thing that he forsakes
That it may no longer torture or forgive him
All men are crude
There is no “Golden Rule”
Men are creatures of darkness and of night
Kindness is a waste
Power has its own grace
Let the powerless suffer their self-inflicted torment
Sadness is man’s fate
Why bother to complain
A life filled with joy would be too fulfilling
Each man makes
And when he is ready he breaks
His bonds, his word and his promises
Men do not love
For love is truly a drug
And It is better to never love than to have loved and lost.
