For the world it’s set high,
A ride that leads one either to hide
From, or rise to face a certain life,
On an accord set to chord the requiem,
That orchestrates the world’s note,
In turn loud while eternal to coat,
Those in existence with an awe theorem,
About not the art of living,
But the art of existing,
It’s already foretold many would souvenir
The thought of existing, merely to never fathom
Indifference in this cliché society,
But a few would art to living,
For their sake indifference worth living,
In their own fashioned society.