What's the point
When my life is so dull
I'm nothing more than a pile of dust
Waiting for the winds to blow me elsewhere
Nothing I do will fix this
There is nothing worth remembering
When I die
Memories of me die as well
In only a few years after I pass
There will be no sign of me
Why work now if I won't be remembered?
Why try if no one will see?
Other's have done so much
So why have I done so little?
They will be remembered for their work
Praised for generations
I will fade like a small candle
Though some light came from it, it dies out quickly
Why would anyone remember a candle
When great fires burn much brighter.
