The shaddows begin to appear,

the night kills of the sun.

The man walks, hopelessly,

he knows he is not done. 

The wind never blows,

in his direction, there is no breeze.

He walks against the current—

with him is no ease.  

Yet he travels every day, 

hopeless, against the current. 

So that maybe one day, 

he can end this torturing—

never ending reccurent. 

Life is but full of struggles, 

man is left to enddure. 

Walking against the current, 

One cannot be insecure.