each day a new story
each day a bridge to mend
each day the same bridge falls
each day the same voice calls
each day it asks for an end
each day the same bridge to mend

normalcy is a conspiracy
like in each symbolic beginning
lies a perpetual end
both seen yet unseen
relentless yet ignored
meaningless yet sought

i may not be a sinner
but i am no saint
if fulfillment had a color
i'd have loved to paint
but color, paper and strokes
is that all it takes for fulfillment
then why do I find myself again

seeking another's testament