Nothing is permanent in this wicked world, not even our troubles. In your moments of solitude,. The sun, when it rises,. Is not a mighty ball of fire as we like to believe,. But a frantic scurry of spilled lava. How, when the sun sets,. Above our irreverent chatters and all this. How we just stand there, watching, idling,.

Upgrade to paid account! Go With The Flow. What cost too great I cannot give. For Him who has saveth me. But of death, ask not did He. Will I give up my comforts. Or the dreams I chase. Can I give up my holidays. Death passes to new life. But when He asks to live for Him. Will we survive the strife? For living right is harder. To make the choices harsher.

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