not what we ask for

who doesn't want the miracle to start
magic will not solve any of our woes
none claims to be the one who knows
each of us forgets their assigned part
the whole thing's thrown into the mart
we do not follow where the river flows
and cannot cross at the last place it froze
who would ask questions has no heart
before the day returns we hate the night
and when it comes desire the night again
we're never satisfied unless we truly itch
and then we can bewail our constant plight
declare that none can understand our pain
because in some regards we're truly rich