impossible

i'm a meat-suit wearing skeketon, and im hurtling round the sun

there's days i feel despair for what the human race has done

for evil and corruption, blood and tears and hurt

people struggling all their lives, pressed into the dirt

while others live in luxury enough to make you sick

and women's fundamental rights are threatened by a dick

but sometimes make yourself remember exactly what you are:

built from the bones and ghosts of many a dying star.

+

when dragging myself out of bed feels like nothing could be worse

I'm still a wonder of creation, observing the universe

when payday feels too long away, and all feels so unfair

it's impossible i'm even here, let alone aware

a lottery that has been struck, the placement of the earth

the speed of it's rotation, my life, my pain, my birth

+

anything can become ordinary, or at least that's what they say

i find it's true, for me at least, the grind day after day

work and sleep, laundry, bills, feeling put upon, downtrod

it's no wonder we yearn for something else, a reason, or a god

i'm too this, too that, too thin, too fat, too dull, too weak, too poor

i guess like any human, i find myself wanting more

more excitement, or more comfort, or maybe fantastic wealth

a better car, a better house, younger skin, or better health

+

even at its worst my life's more wondrous than i can tell

because i'm a meat suit wearing skeleton with stardust in every cell

sometimes we resemble zombies with our faces in our phones

forgetting we are the impossible, and we've got magic in our bones

why yearn for ghosts or unicorns or fairies in a jar

when i'm a cosmic miracle, and i'm hurtling round a star