Was the time you spent perfecting things completely worth its price?
As minutes melt to decades gone, in the dwindling sands of life?
And does every ache and pain remind you of what all you'll sacrifice?
Even minute and meek gestures done to make things seem so nice,
The extra minutes to ensure precision, like a surgeon with a knife,
Was the time you spent perfecting things completely worth its price?
Not to mention that such stressors lead to indulging in more vice,
Your goals growing more-unreachable with every newfound strife,
And does every ache and pain remind you of what all you'll sacrifice?
A foolish hope for exponential gain, in the rolling of the dice,
Looking back on all you lost— as foolish as Lot's wife,
Was the time you spent perfecting things completely worth its price?
The extra effort to prove your worth, the quest for rare and precious spice,
Unappreciated the only feeling with which you're rife,
And does every ache and pain remind you of what all you'll sacrifice?
Don't consider this a warning, a sort of hope preserved in ice,
The piper is already paid, and Death can hear his fife,
Was the time you spent perfecting things completely worth its price?
And does every ache and pain remind you of what all you'll sacrifice?