So easily locked into a role; through opportunity and sway, we become things we never imagined. All is not as it once was - all is only as it is.
We speak of things progressing, one form shifting to its next... we impart our hopes into these words, but what right do we have? Are we really spinning the wheel, or does it turn of its own accord? Who are we to say what the future brings - we've never been right in the past. Songs dry up in time... with them the energy to feel their loss.
Push forward, follow the path - but don't tell me that it leads anywhere. By now, we should know better.