Sunday morning, I started a stroll
To find the meaning of life, with an ancient scroll,
A bag with food and some grape juice,
This life of mine, I want to let it loose.

I strolled over a library where thoughts echo,
Unspoken words from books form Lego.
Deep silence aroused a sound so pure;
Pens and poets together, they cure.

I strolled over a battlefield to see,
It...