We are thrown in this world, you and me,
No special meaning granted, just meant to be.
Existence precedes essence, or so they say,
The meaning of this, you ponder night and day.
We suffer a common fate, in the end we'll die,
That knowledge liberates, gives us permission to fly,
To create a life of meaning, where there was none,
- By giving birth to ourselves, we are finally done.
We are alone and alienated, like the rest of them,
Can choose Amor Fati, or continue to gods condemn,
But we are all too human, constrained by what is,
That we are free is painful, ignorance is bliss.
The hand I'm dealt with, is the hand I like,
The givens of my existence, are my lucky strike.
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