tl;dr - Creative Individuals' Struggles
We're a clique of cursed people
Walking amongst a crowd to whom we deem peaceful
Its a heavy burden to carry a big load
With a promise, a commitment, a passed down ode.
Society claims that we are blessed
Maybe our true feelings we have supressed.
When majority don't realize of our situation,
that avoiding irrelevancy is our fixation.
Millions in this world died knowing they did something right
Meanwhile my impact here is still very light.
What becomes of my name when I pass on to the next?
My successor not knowing my name is something I object.
How could I live with myself, there on my dying bed
If all my dreams of leaving my print was all in my head?
Lack of impact is something that brings me distraught
All I could show is you. Hoping as you transition into thought.
- me, lol. Isn't that sad?
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