In Which I Write Another Poem

Man

There's no fucking sense in this world any more
No rhyme, no reason, no pattern, no score
We lie in an endless deliberation of delusion
And there's nothing left for us but confusion
We live in a hellhole, surrounded by hate
With the few who survive, alive, reprobates
The masses will fall, through mountains of squalor
And those left behind, will face all our horror
So breathe in the fresh air, while you still can
Before, as chance has it, life makes you a man