Don't think someone can't make a comeback.
On death's brink a miracle 
Can sway destiny's balance.
Lands devoured by massive waves 
Resurface in glorious fate,
And we who cried may too be saved.

Mortals don't know who gets saved.
A pendulum meets its comeback
And we call it fate,
But actually it's a miracle. 
I smile at him and he waves;
She laughs with us and life feels balance.

Tears are included in the balance,
Totems I wish I'd saved
Now buried in the waves
Of decades' desert comeback.
All at once it's a miracle,
Across thousands of years it's fate.

Laugh at yourself Nick, for fate
Is a rationalization of balance;
The workings of a miracle,
And sadly those who aren't saved
In slaughter rule games with no comeback,
Alike they crash on illusive waves.

As a gentle brushstroke's waves
I try to bend beside my fate,
Which has included a prior comeback,
From close-to-death restored to balance.
If even I could be saved,
There's no unbelievable miracle.

Love is the greatest miracle
Among the many makers of waves;
It shines its special light, which is saved
Until a heart designs its own fate.
The paradigm of balance
Provides for many a comeback.

The jewel of the comeback miracle
Doesn't require balance on waves:
We can't know our fate is not to be saved. 

Is it about satisfaction
After swimming through my sweat,
Self-demanding worldview works
To validate what I think is my nature?
Through self-reflection I may learn,
But it's put into practice only with others.

The intrinsic terror of others
That supports self-satisfaction–
Secret and smug. I must break to learn
Any real value of sweat.
The soul is always outside its nature
But clings to whatever works.

A petty problem that works 
Itself out with some effort from others.
What a superficial nature
Inspected for fleeting satisfaction.
Am I afraid to break a sweat;
Then nothing more should you have to learn.

I'll always be afraid to learn
The true futility of my works;
The utter impotence of my sweat;
The subpar product I offer to others;
I wish to present to your satisfaction
Through the simple machine of my nature.

Apart from cities, apart from nature,
This modern habit I've come to learn,
Perversely absorbed in the satisfaction
Of looks and show and mirrorworks,
Has me perturbed by potential others;
And I deserve to sweat.

Deserving or not, I'll continue to sweat
And fret over my foolish nature;
Craving esteem from others
To hide how poorly I learn;
Hoping to be engaged in works
That someday lead to satisfaction.

Let satisfaction be measured in sweat.
My works will have no effect on nature.
I can learn, but am I closer to others?