It is as simple as you make it—what value is and what is not;
the world crumbles because of your selfish choice.
Again, it is the simplest of things that matter the most;
what little choice we have regarding how we see the soul.
Have you not heard the orchestra performing its symphony in your ears—it is just her voice;
words are crawling inside of your wretched heart speaking of the crimes that you now are forgiven for.
A human heart fragile, weary and confused; there was no manual; there was no script; no description of how the soul is used to labour for an unkind world, growing and never understanding it all.
What is your choice of worth, the little kind deeds or the heroic act of selfishness?
Can it be defined by your words or your actions and be judged at the end of the world.
Judged for trying to believe; acting on hope—falling for the traps of greed, the greed of every kind;
that hurls the soul towards the bottom of an endless pit, somehow a single voice is calling.
Whispering your name, your name of all names; calling you beautiful even when your deeds are maleficent—a home that is worth a thousand of souls, so, how do you define the soul, your soul?