Attrition sings the blues
in hidden stables rocking in mangers  
no God here only sinners welcome for homage
to the weakened troubled pained and diseased minds
enshrining envy jealousy and fears of the insecure and inadequate
where relief is sought in sharing  miseries in dud hope of like for like
attrition sings the blues morning noon an dusk in hysteric punctuality

The weak and fearful will run
for screeching dirges will strike raw nerves
vacuous entities will flee for putrid idioms will stain
the cowards will rile and flunk off in wounded tantrum of pain
and snowflakes will melt and turn into the quavering wreck of husk
while the real solid true an characterful sees nothing but dolts aching
and hears in attrition blues caterwauling of losers without essence or self worth