Constance is but a hypocrisy

There will come a point in life,
where you stand on a crossroad,
between two path you will choose
in which you realize,
that the choice you make does not matter.

Your self, you desperately hold to
are not of your own
you believe you forge your road
your skin you hid carefully
yet fear grip you as you walk

You don't understand child.
You don't have the directions
You don't have a compass
You don't have the map

You don't understand
You are nothing more than
a constellation of past "choices"
mixed together.
Your will bend like puppet strings

You are nothing but a force moving
and staying constant is nothing but
hypocrisy