I sat down feeling desolated,
bowed my head and crossed my knees.
Is fortune really predicated upon such tiny turns as these?
Then fate's a thing without a head,
a puzzle never understood.
And man proceeds where he is led,
unguaranteed of bad or good.
Fate,
fate can be the trap in your path.
The bitter cup of your tears,
your wine of wrath.
Fate can be shade in the desert blaze,
sudden food in a famine found.
The sound of praise incomprehensible and strange.
Fate can play a trick with a twine to
weave the evil and good in one design.
And so my destiny I look at you and cannot see.
Is it good?
Is it ill?
Am I blessed?
Am I cursed?
Is it honey on my tongue?
A bride?
What fate?
What fate is mine?
Fate can play a trick with a twine to
weave the evil and good in one design.
And so my destiny I look at you and cannot see.
Is it good?
Is it ill?
Am I blessed?
Am I cursed?
Is it honey on my tongue?
A bride?
What fate?
What fate is mine?
What fate is mine?