So much Life left in the dust, so much time I will never see
All for the sake of being valued in being busy
I wonder what love was lost without ever being found?
I wonder what fruit was was abandoned without seed ever finding ground?
All this loss for things I passed by as deceit has been framed in my mind.
I strive and toil staying busy pursuing fulfillment I will never find.
What people are left alone with questions, what questions have I left unanswered
As busyness consumed my time, my life, my schedule like a cancer.
Busy we can always be but I ask you to what end?
Busy for the things worthwhile or busy until we have no time left to lend?