Water born
Paper rip
Let the table tip

Time will pass
Matter
Mass
to life we ever grip

Fevered fury
Of the mind
And to the earth we bind

Ease of thought
And nothing sought
With nothing left to find

How of you to fester so
And Where of you to go
Mortal
Moral
Mailable
With seeds you cannot sow

So
Do let slip
The wasting fear
The darkness
And unknown

The vine
Has snaked and blossomed thus
With nowhere left to grow.