Wherever you go, people don’t always talk and think like you
Through the years I’ve tried to see the good in every man
But ended up cynical about life, love and misery.
Life is what we make it;
If we don’t do a thing, what are we then?
We love, we live, we get hurt, we die.
Just as all cycles do, we wake up the next day
To love and live again, to get hurt and die bitter
Happiness and hurt, both are things of the past by then.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.