Whose destiny is it?
Who gets to decide?
Is it you, or me?
Or is it someone else?
And if there's someone watching me
From far away and yet so close
With powers staying out of reach
Beyond our grasping, mortal hands
Then how can any person say
That they are noble, or are not?
And if you say that destiny
Is merely having your story written
Before it ever happens,
Then why do we keep on living?
Is it right to keep our destinies secrets?
If the only purpose
Of not knowing
Is to feel a feeling of false control
Then is my life a lie?
Or am I even able to think
Without some One telling that part too.
And I am just a puppet
For some One more powerful than me.
Have I to hope?
To have my heart's desires?
Or is my story already done
The last chapter
Why should I live, should I play along?
Why can't anything I do be mine?
Any desire could be planted,
Any thought could be planned
I will never be myself, but somebody else!
Whose whims are dependent on their creator
Whose mind is as false as a lie
And if I live, and think these things
Then what is meant for me?
Or is this too, only a lie?
Allthese thoughts a lie
But what is destiny!
I must know!
Is there a point to what I have been through?
Is there some conclusion hanging on the horizon?
I am nothing.
And why am I allowed to know.
Because it would be "wrong"?
Because it would be "untruthful"?
I am someone else's idea of me,
Someone else's perception!
And if you were told by someone you believed
That you were no more real than ink,
And pressed paper,
And the mind of one with too much time
And a fancy for his own turns of phrase
Would you not feel similarly betrayed?
If I was ever real once, I am not now!
I do not truly breathe on the page…
I am not real.
~ "Drizzt Do'urden"