Inexorability

They say the morning air is the return of fare paid at night to stay alive
As we lie in bed in the gloom and dread of another day inside this hell
A silent prayer to say we stay here out of habit, lest we die and what we find is a special kind of torture

I must admit, I always feel like shit but it gets a little brighter, climbing higher watch the fires burn kindness from our bones, home alone and a sultry tone sings tomorrow often blue
Yet every day I stay awake and think about what I could do to praise the truth and sing a tune of a happy few, who…