Die of the world

When we throw our dice
Creators count odd or even
And with every choice
They then decide the winning
How does it all come together?
Is everyone involved
What is this paranoia
The great things we've been told!
Dreams or hates so miraculous
Imaginings new each thing i say
A kind of disserpation though
Changes each and every which way
Who will be the outcome?
And what with it will they do?
Yet in this deep confusion
One add one already made two.
It grew on me as I grew on it
But I can be removed in a way
Surely am changed just a little bit
Whilst in awed of every day
Try to be grateful for the things I'm given.
So when we throw our dice
Creators count odd, or even