What is the appeal

Of something unreal

Why do we desire

When passion can tire

Why do we cry

When the whole world's alive

Why do we have sorrow

If there's always tomorrow

Why do we sleep

When there's secrets to keep

Why do leafs fall

When there's no point at all

This is my anger

My sadness in words

This is the madness

The fears of the world

Why do I write

Deep into the night

Feeling so hopeless

A limp bird so flightless

Where is that spark

That once lay within

Where is the hope

That once made me grin

What am I doing

With all this madness?

I write it on paper

And it turns into sadness.