uThe Saga of Man/u
Nature's bloom
The story of life
A mortal's doom
Stricken with strife
The spiral of death
From dawn of time
To reapers breath
Has no reason nor rhyme
The futile efforts of man so bold
Are nothing of sorts
When man grows old
We toil from dawn to dusk
Without asking why
We do what we must
Until the day we die
Will be too late
To be happy or sad
To love or to hate
Or to jump at each fad
To think we have grace
To think that we're special
When we're just a speck in space
Nothing more, nothing at all
Man's own egotism
Shall herald man's fall