Whittemore

All is lost, as we still soldier on without knowing how or why
With no real objective (apart from the effort, to hasten the die that I die)
Slowly dawning on us that despite all the travails passed, life has too great a cost
Nothing left to do but scream, "All is lost"
No one ever should hear these words I always hear
As I ask you what you're thinking of - you break my heart to pieces
As you always tell me, you're thinking of the one that you love
Always, always, always doomed to be on the outside
And failing to carve a piece of life. Nothing left to do but scream, "All is lost"
A life spent in the service of apathetic fate will just break your spirit in two
Our obituaries will read, "all was lost
You will never know how long it took to understand your life"