Who won if all was lost in love and war
And death awaited every soul
Who won if life was all but sour and bore,
To which we turn our shoulders, Cold.

This path of life doth lead to loss
In which our stay is all but brief
Our minds and souls are tragic flaws
That drives us all to endless grief.

So, when all man hath ceased to speak,
And echoed lines hath ceased to Rhyme
Our knees will buckle at our feet
To bare such grief till ends of Time.