How fickle it is to live.
How fickle it is to be the first, to be the bearer of the dreams of those ahead of you. To be one to lead with nothing but the skin you’re laden with to carry you.
How fickle it is to be in no mans land. You’re not the first, not the last and no mark will be made only forgotten for you no blinks will be made.
How fickle it is to be last, to be left with nothing but the memories of the past. Hold dear, no tears you’re “lucky” to be here.
How fickle it is that all of this like a clock will not stop so make the time last.