Our lives are blank slate With freewill as the ink It's no one's choice but yours To make of it that which is ideal
Our parent's duty was all but the birth A little support until we know good and evil Then we write on the slate that we choose Only our voices count, that of people don't
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The ink is erasable, a room for many mistakes But only but for a short time, so use wisely While we wander about our lives Remember a slate awaits your deeds
Free will a gift so rare Yet so dangerous that we never know when it's taken from us What really count is what you make of your blank slate Not how long the slate stayed.