All Paths Lead to the Same Place

 

Among the old men is crumbling hope

Like dying flowers in their flowerbeds during fall

Wishing for the sunny and golden days

Each man picked the path he followed

Some became lost

As if their path was stuck in bog

Others overcame the temptations

And pushed through

Those were the ones who found the pot of gold after the rain

Living as they should have

And living as they shouldn’t

They are scattered all over

Now that doesn’t matter

All of the men are dying

For the milk of sweet life