From out of nowhere came a thought one day
that in my haste I quickly pushed away.
But it bothers me still, it won't leave my mind.
It troubles my sleep, bothers me when I rise.
History doesn't mark our rise or our fall.
History just forgets us, one and all.
For what are we? A gust of air?
A cloud drifting by? A hope somewhere?
We're gone so soon, though we scorn and cry,
talk of our own importance; still, time passes us by.
Ages come and time doesn't last.
Soon we will be ages past.
Empires rise and empires fall.
So why do we think we're emperors all?