Rush, shove, throw about,
doubt, regret, yelling, shout,
this life is frale, this life is weak, and by good measure,
we made it so. With sugar coats sticky and sweet, its no wonder the decay which has set in, no hope left to save the outer shell, all is rotten, filth, decay, and rank, this is the lives we have made for ourselves, for our children, for their sakes, we cover over all that does not please, under the rug of disbelief and self denial, but one day the rot will reach our door step,
someday soon, and all will cry out save me from my sorry fate, and laughs will ring, chuckles deep with delight,
for we warned by forsight called out and recieved no reply, so rot in our own lives.