A man is just a skipping stone,
his fate delivered when he’s thrown.
He measures time in skips and beats.
In skips and beats each year repeats,
with each one shorter than the last,
until they’re coming way too fast.
And though some lives fly far and straight,
some others meet a different fate.
Some to the left or right will dash.
Some lives are but a single splash.
And God is just a boy on shore,
with a pile of rocks, and nothing more.
