Art

Here's what life gives you,
Other than lemons,
Because those don't exist before the things,
I'm about to tellin'.

It gives you some indistinct idea of who,
Or what you are,
Which gives the illusion that somehow,
You can figure out more,

But if you're honest with yourself,
And that's also impossible,
You will admit the only thing you're sure of,
Is what helps you escape being individual,

Which is when you're alright,
And what one truly calls art,
Those moments when there's no mistaking,
That of which you are a part.