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Underneath a soul well-traveled lies lots of things that lead to the present day
Things that where neither meaningless or special in present forms
A reminder of things past and a recollection of things done before
Ever spinning around the soul like a top when twirled onto the floor.
Un-rehearsed actions that tell a story of a life that is lived and still remains
Pictures promote the happily ever after but behind those photos are stains
Stains of all the things that have rubbed of onto this soul.
Things that were broken and once again was made whole
Faults all on their own, nothing really to blame
The soul is a like a piano in that it plays sometimes, mindless tunes
No real rhyme or reason
Playing as if there is an audience of believers of the same things
Never learning the real truth,
The one that lies underneath a life full of living
And a heart filled to the brim with lots of believing.
