Ashes to ashes, Dust to dust, And the world spins madly on,
As the ticking clock's cogs turn to rust, A butterfly shall flap its wings,
And fade out of existence as the nightingale sings A sad song for the marvelous yet meaningless, Melodically destructive Monarch of the midnight sky.
Let its song be a reminder, Of the ever-ticking timer, Hurriedly beating away in our chests. And let the sound of each thump Tear apart all delusions of splendor, Laying bare the memory that we are simply human;