"Que Sera Sera;” one of the lies that’s been passed down in ages
A sweet lullaby for the lazy
a lullaby that kills the will
We’re told; “Whatever will be; will be;”
but forget that what will be needs 'Will' to be

Destiny isn’t a scripted play; it’s a field
And man was gifted a tool; the name is "will"
Yet we sit; fold arms; and call it fate
as if the Most High created us to spectate

Not every dream dies because it wasn’t meant to be
Some die because someone refused to will it into being

“Que Sera Sera”; A lullaby laced in the lines of sages
but sweet on the tongue of passive cages
It's a chant for the chilled; not the chosen
a phrase for the frozen; who wait for fate with doors wide open
but never knock; never move; just hoping

“Whatever will be; will be”
sounds deep; but it ain't that deep
It’s how dreams go to sleep
It's how kings lose their crown
and blame the throne for sitting down

See; destiny ain’t a straight-line draft
It curves; it bends; it waits for craft
You were born with a map and a machete
Will you walk; or will you wait already?

Not every “meant to be” will see the light
Some stay in the dark 'cos you refuse to fight
Some die not from fate but neglect
buried in the soil of "what did you expect?"

So nah
Don’t sell your will for a whisper
Don’t call surrender scripture
Don’t paint apathy in gold and call it faith
God gave you breath; not brakes

“Que fit no sera sera”
what should be; might not ever be
if you let life happen passively
If you leave purpose to probability
you’ll forfeit your possibility

Because destiny without action? Is distraction
A poetic excuse for inaction
A fiction of fraction

So stand
Stand where the cowards sat
Dare where the doubters lacked
"Will" what must be;
’cos what must be might just flee
if you don’t become what you’re meant to be