What is the point in burning oneself
To make a few wisps of smoke,
When the swirling gusts of smiling time
Will scatter them with a careless stroke?
Desperately, some meaning in life
It’s our vanity that makes us see;
Life is too busy in living itself,
To indulge your little fantasy.
Not that I know not that life
Is no more than what I can see,
Yet the mind keeps fooling itself,
That this cannot be all that can be.
No deeper meaning awaits your quest,
The rainbow ends in a place empty,
The leaden pain of a gnawing heart
Is all that your reward will ever be