The jukebox plays an oldie
Everyone is drunk
But they all know the words
If they don't know his name
This, is fame
A memory, one day lost
Think of Alexandria
Now nothing
Once so great
Or deities lost to history
That is the path we all take
We are born, we exist
Maybe even live
We die, and are forgotten
There is no hereafter
No pearly gates
No endless fire
Birth, existence
Then we expire
This is humanity