No purpose

To breathe, to think, to exaggerate,

To keep from thinking, to keep it real,

It's neseccary, fundamental, rudimentary.

Without it, I'd die-I'd go insane.

I'd lose my focus, my strength, my rational.

Paranoia is what I'd be left,

Mixed with uncontrolled emotion.

For this thing keeps me grounded,

It keeps my thoughts corralled, and monitored.

It keeps me from dying, from exploding in fury and sadness.

Without it, nothing is right.

Without music, there'd be no purpose