What is 'justice' but a word?
What does the Universe care of 'justice'?
Would you live alone, and die alone
If the world gave one lick for justice?
Yet here we are, dust spun into form -
Shifting patterns whirling our way through the world
Picking up dust, tossing it aside,
Sharing it as we pass by and through one another on our lonely roads.
Dust devils, that's what we are.
Devils with pretensions of ourselves.
You think this is reality?
That this is what things are?
You're patterns in motion,
That's all you are, all you were, and its all you'll ever be!
You think that stuff, that thing we call 'body' is you?
There's not an inch, not a piece, not a molecule, not a particle
Not a single thing in it to connect it with the you you used to be.
You shed all that stuff long ago.
A dust devil.
A pattern in the wind.
An oh so very soon to die pattern.
That is what we are.
Patterns spun in on ourselves till we think there is 'we' and 'I'.
Its all delusion!
Who wants to be alone?
How many times have you cried in the night away from prying eyes,
Cradled in the sweet embrace of self-pity?
How many times have you wanted those things the world promises;
Happiness, acceptance, success, affection, love?
How many times have you known frustration, bitterness, anger, fear, uncertainty?
You are everyone!
You who have left so many words unsaid,
So many dreams unfulfilled,
So many feelings set up on shelves.
There's no room in the universe to express all these things...
Silly me to try with words!
And yet, when all is said and done, and all illusions put to rest.
We're still here:
Still looking in a mirror,
At ourselves. At one another.
Still looking for justice.
But the truth is: for us devils, there can be none.
So, oh dusty dust devil
Let's dance the night away,
For it's five to four on ballroom floor
And we're ought but dust anyway.