It wasn't me. I am too late and so are you. Maybe our parents also were And those before them too. Does it matter? We are all failures The generation of expectations Now all washed out and dried up. Last efforts for lost causes Final notes of the funeral march. It is we who will preach the services And lower Mother Earth's casket. After that, who will be there To bury us in the end? When there's nothing left to bury And no Earth to lay us in?