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Fading away, Into the light of the day, The morning is cold, lonely, and gray. I will never let go, Of this memory's glow. The happiness falls, And sends me deeper into sorrow.
Sometimes I wonder why things are the way they are.
Like why plants grow, or why the sun is a star.
But some things there are no answers to.
And those things have nothing that makes them true.
So why can't an opinion be a fact?

A million questions up high and stacked.
Why can't someone have the answer to everything?
Why do I have trouble with what's worth accepting?


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