A promise is a promise, the notion’s unchanged
The motive of motion is an ocean unchained
Expectations of life is a supposition I’ve blamed
For fate is a design that is forever unexplained
Is my potential the key or is life as random as chance?
Does hope keep me moving or is it an illusion of trance?
A prospect in life, but nothing is promised
Expectations are empty, makes it hard to be honest
