Tuesday, 2 April 2013


Toiling like fools
Sweat drips into pools
Of self-delusion
Gathered in confusion

Grind your time away
 Where Greed holds sway
Soon you will find
Must be left behind

You toil away at the stone, but all will be for naught
Fingers worked to the bone, but the Reaper can’t be bought

So slave away
Whips of desire at your back
You must provide
For your illusory lack

So far it is, yet so near
This end always feared

You find out too late, this morbid truth
No Escape
This is your doom, it calls for you!

So toil away, my fool, my friend
Toil right into the soil.

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