Is life but a myriad of choices?
Filled with questions and strange voices?
Always this or that from wake to bed,
And most likely this or that until I’m cold and dead,
Whatever happened to just being able to exist?
Alas, from daily choices I cannot resist,
From what to do or what to wear,
To all the tasks that require my time and care,
I dare not count the choices made per day,
For I’m sure it would fill me with utter dismay,