What do we do when all the loose ends are tied?

Do we shut up and die?

If Halmet is a hero, but literature is a lie, than quoting imitation makes life hurry by.

What's understanding, happiness, and philosophies?

If not another excuse for why we live.

And what makes us think we can pin down the answer to the most unattainable question we can give.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

:) I like this little ditty. It sums up my midnight wonderings.

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