"There Is No Prize"


There is no scope
There is no lens
But what will be scratched by the end

There is no flame
There is no torch
But what can be lit and destroyed
And reborn

So what is flesh?
What is skin,
But that which you're imprisoned in?

There is no prize,
No purse of gold
But what will be gambled away when you're old.

I unwrapped the trenchant truth
And folded away my youth,
Now nothing more than change
Held onto just in case

There are no gods,
No sacred ghosts
But those who had purchased their posts

There is no leaf,
No patch of grass
But that which is withering fast

So what is grace?
What is beauty
But that which some day will die?
For me at least?

"Next year is almost here,"
Is that how you fed your fear?
Haven't you grown a bit?
Aren't you past that shit?

It is a sin
It's such a shame
That it's so damn easy to be afraid

'Cause you are pure
And you are brave,
But you were a hell of a mess to create.