If you're very, very quietnAnd do not make a soundnI'll share a little secretnThat seems a bit profoundnEach thought that is imaginednGains life its ownnAnd drifts into realitynLooking for its homennSome people call it karmansome people call it fatensome people call it kindnessnOthers call it hatensome people use it wiselynsome people sell it cheapnsome call it happinessnBut others call it griefnnTragedy from tragedynA lover's kiss (that's simple)nReligion falls behind the wallsnWhere paradise remainsnDid suffering suggest the causenOf all our little questions?nThe answer was not coming soonnShe paused for reflection