Death was a hooded figure,
it’s face unknown, a complete stranger.
Yet many dreams are filled with death and its gestures,
it’s waiting is filled with hunger.
We mourned for the death of loved ones,
we mourned for the death of strangers killed in disasters.
But how many people mourn the death of nature,
How many mourns the death of dreams for the future?
Once the fight for survival vanishes,
nothing’s important, nothing matters.
Holding a dream though knowing it’ll never come true,
that’s a kind of death itself – where the soul won’t be alive.
A life without a cause is equavilant to dying,
we roam the Earth with a souless body.
Every second, many types of deaths are happening,
the same second it takes to give life to somebody.