Wasting the marvels in a marvellous waste
Where beauty‘s nailed by fangs of haste
Oh, such a sickness, on a perfect sick globe
And the man, nesting like a forlorn telescope
The man whose health is a tool of the trade
The man who’s just bones on a grate
Entrapped souls on this bereaved Earth
Candidates of eternity, what a foolish herd
Harming the health by healthy harm
The wheels of decay propelled by devil’s arm
Oh, such a sickness, we’re perfectly sick
Deceiving wits by a plotted gimmick
The man who’s offered a soluble wonder
And said, you need this need, no need to ponder
Yes, this is the man who dwells in grief
Wedding the death, with no hope to reprieve
None’s that fit to dare refuse our remedy
which makes you undying, what a vicious comedy
We’ve built our real world on a nasty lie
What’s already deceased indeed needn’t die
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