I am not alive, though they say I am.
Such is the grave inconsequence of man;
liar that I am, I am not alive at all,
not alive at all, no. I am not alive.

Countless years have I spent in my quest, or so it would seem, at
the will of my mentor's request for truth, for the meaning, for life.
But what of this day? What of my own existence? How can I
pray to that which I cannot perceive?

Destiny would have that I blindly follow with no thought of my
own. But when I contemplate tomorrow my heart is turning to<br /> stone. Why am I never satisfied? Why do I live with constant pain?
Is life just passing time till I die and thence never to rise again?

The sun is gone bringing the dark, the darkness heralds in the
night. I cannot sleep, my eyes are wide, it's the longest night of
my life. I've been denied, my life is gone, where is my breath, I
must have died. My hour is come, my tears are dry within my
eyes, life is denied. I'm cold, I'm dying, I'm cold, I am dying.

In my wretchedness, I recall the words my Teacher spoke to me,