sometimes you feel like it's all
going to be worth it. Arguable
things, questionable things
and who's to say? Maybe you're right, but I can see
that look in your eye from a mile away
and if you tell me this isn't a crisis of faith,
then I don't know what to believe in anymore. Look.
The soul's dark night has grown darkest again, I know.
I can't look inside you, I can't read your mind to tell
you what you're thinking, these are all just great
guesses. Hit after hit hits too close to home and you're like,
"who is this guy? How's he so acquainted with my demons,
and is you going to give me some advice or what?" Sorry.
Your demons and mine
are the same damn bunch of guys, that's all.
And they sure do talk about you when they drink.
But I can't give you advice. Advice is meaningless,
in a world where one person more or less
just doesn't seem to make any difference
to the weight of the world. And certainly
not to lifting it.
But it's not hopeless, OK? It isn't hopeless.
You don't have to life the weight of the world.
You're only responsible to lift your piece. Which
is exactly the size of you.