There is a song from my expectant tomb
It gets louder everyday
Earth calls my remains into its waiting womb
Singing a melody of hairs all gray
This counterfeit called life is a trial
We live daily proving we deserved living
As if being simple which without denial
Does not cost a thing looks like sinning
But I am tired of the hassling
I have lived smelling the ever young air
Like a rat biting and sniffing
Now ageing leaves me with falling hair
You look deficient like me when you die
Your bulging belly deflates oh dear John Doe
Even your polished skin tans like black dye
Starved of all your Broadway show
@harrywill