You call it the breeze, I call it the smell, blows in from nowhere, leaves a trace, does it, or does it not,

You say life has a meaning, I say life has a pause, a meaningful one, and then the bubble we keep hiding behind,

You are so true, yet so harsh,

And yet this is not the end, for in the end, you are no different, a hope, a puff, an occasional roar and a dying whimper,

You are so true, and I am a believer…