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