Empty vessels and all that,

it makes sense of the senselessness
and  brings self to the selfless
pointless is blunt
when the army's on the hunt
with bayonets fixed, but the runt
of the litter
the weasel eyed critter
sees all.

not always so
so you know,
and won't always be,

sometimes when silence rules me
I can see heaven which must be
a haven,

it's another board game of life or
some name I don't know
but it grows on me
and it goes on
no matter we lose
because
we win by
beginning
to play.