Perspective

How does a soul,
Wasted and spoiled,
Dusty and soiled,
Find its way,
Through the torment,
In this moment,
To the end of pain and peace,

And to nothing,
I find myself drifting,
Into nothing,
I find myself fighting,
It's all a matter of perspective.

Blood runs through these veins,
As all the good gets drained,
Freezing my resolve,
Chance to evolve,
To the battlefield,
I will never yield,

Into nothing,
I find myself drifting,
Into nothing,
I find myself fighting,
It's all a matter of perspective.

If a fight is lost,
But the battle continues,
Am I fighting for a cause that's lost,
Or defending it's rights whatever the cost?
Is love simply a mechanism of desperation and woe,
Or is love the driving force telling me where to go?

Into nothing,
I find myself drifting,
Into nothing,
I find myself fighting,
It's all a matter of perspective.