Life is a vitriolic vortex,
it's useless to be deceived by its beings' shiny wax.

All too soon that coating will smolder away,
revealing a  waterfall of bugs and decay.

It's only then that you'll realize,
that all your aspirations were just lies.

People you trust with your life,
see nothing in piercing your bent-over back with a knife.

You are truly alone in this no-man's land,
after everyone has refused to lend you a hand.

The only time to feel like you're not worthless,
surrounded by the downy duvet of darkness,
where dreams reign like diamonds.

As soon as dawn comes knocking,
those gems will turn uncut and need locking.

And when the time comes to get out your polish,
you feel the incoming threat of demolish.

Now you're down below,
trapped in a wooden box exempt from flow.

Suddenly...they care,
bring your resting place flowers to wear.

Once the bell has tolled,
and your skin is cold,
the sympathies unfold.

But the time has passed,
for niceties that last.

One giant globe,
millons of statues lined with withering wax,
life is a vitriolic vortex.