The Times
The Tines
The Ties that bind.

Fruitful flower of misery,
Open you buds to the cold touch
Of Death.

No green thumb, just green with envy.
Sitting so sunny, in a field of falsehoods.

One slip, a skip, and a broken promise.
Have you, too, forgot the deal.

We are all stuck in the mud, so stick.
Live together, die together, no solo act.

So stop holding out, keep the pact.
Enjoy these moments, they'll be your last.