The matchstick is kindled and I dwindle at the thought of meeting my end,
as nothing is permanent and has  to be sent.
Nothing was yours as it was lent.

Life is nothing but an enjoyment of delusion
seldom have you heard this been told,
so intensely think and do not be so bold
to amuse everything that is being told.

You do not see but it is a heavy load,
so be more kind than you are cold.
For everything has to wither and grow old,
surely seldom have you heard this been told