Drift

Someday, when we are old and grey fools
when we're waiting to die,
what we've done, what we're thinking,
we'll wonder: was living worth the lies?

All of our heartaches, all of the scars
worn, bandaged, hidden - we are the weary war-torn.
For us: the darkness, forever.
We are like the lifeless stars.

The sun rises; we drift.