What is it that satisfies the soul?
is it love, or achieving a goal?
What is there that gently warms the heart?
Maybe its the ocean, or an art.
But humans we are, made out of dust,
what could satisfy us 'til the last?
I may speak, and ran out of reason
But answers change in every season
We may have everything we desired,
Sadly, most are never satisfied.
For humans we are, of dust we're bore
with these hearts, always craving for more.