The only truth of which we can be sure,
The one we fear the most and dare not speak,
Is that which starts will end then start once more.

We say in life there’s pain you must endure, 
And that it passes is, however bleak, 
The only truth of which we can be sure.

But what we know yet still we must ignore,
To blind our eyes and trudge from week to week,
Is that which starts will end then start once more.

For try we might ‘till seasoned and mature,
To mask this truth as simply life’s mystique, 
The only truth of which we can be sure;

That fruitless grind of labour’s endless chore 
Reveals, how useless is the hope we seek,
Is that which starts will end then start once more.

There is no future joy we can assure
Those with the sting of tears upon their cheek,
The only truth of which we can be sure,
Is that which starts will end then start once more.