Does Anything Have a Meaning Anymore

Does anything even have a meaning? What are we fighting for here in this town? What's changed in a year? And why does it even bother? Here I am; welcome to me A semester behind schedule and skating by on strange ice Am I actually skilled enough to deserve these grades Or are my professors having mercy on my attempts? Whizzing by on technicalities And vomiting out talent when my heart stops holding me back Am I going to survive in this capitalist wasteland? Or die with the dregs forever reaching towards the sun? Victorian castles shrouded in black against an amber sky Surround a sleepy dirt road with turquoise trees by the wayside In comfortable chairs with cast iron bars Everyone I know and love sits enslaved by their brain's chemistry No hope, no aspirations As each slaves away for a slave's pay How do I convince them to live When I truly see no reason for them, or me, to do so? Why fear an eternity of blankness? More importantly, why fear it coming soon? Compared to endless eons, billions of years Why bother struggling for another sixty before it takes me anyway? I've been dead longer than I've been alive I'll be dead longer than I'll be alive How am I to convince my friends to live When I can't even convince myself? So again I ask, shouting into the inky blackness of the night Does anything have a meaning beyond what I attach to it? Does the world truly end with me? Because I'm a rather poor playwright for that kind of responsibility.