In all our disconsolate lives,

When things get hard,

We gaze into an empty sky,

And wish upon a hollow star,

As if to fulfill some dream,

That has long been scattered and lost,

Somewhere within our vast, desolate hearts.

Behind our eyes,

As each dream slowly seeps out,

Into the cold fabric of time.

That empty sky firmly grips and squeezes the life,

From our wretched, heavy-hearted minds.