Apart from a third of my life spent in sweet slumber,
and another few moments spent intoxicated,
I have been with myself all my life,
and yet i lie beyond me.
A summation of forces beyond me,
half of me innately engraved before birth,
the other half formed by random consequence,
and it thus formed me.
And yet, in this funny scheme of things,
somewhere my will somehow figures in,
a tiny spark, ignited by my blood.
So the bird may sing without questioning its voice,
and the madman may dance without rhythm and flow,
but being human, I lie here, in doubt.