Surviving on the myth of a mystic beast,
Fleetingly perishing from sight, a dream.

The remembering of the forgetting,
Never assured, yet always right.

Satiate your being, raise your toast,
Cheers to the weak-willed mob!

Stick out your fangs, out with your soul,
To bear it all in the Above.

A monument is but a rock, feel free to raise one or more,
May they become an avalanche.

Waves come ashore shaping all the minds,
Unlike of carbon, the heart is cotton