We all trek on, flipping pennies for change,
Imprisoned in a world where we don't feel sane.
Scrounging for words at the back of our throats,
as the devil holds his hand mirror inscribed in vain.

The hymns will echo through the hall, a gruesome harmony,
of memories doused in fine sugar smiles,
where the smokers coughs cover the discrete inner war,
enemies bringing themselves to ongoing trials.

We'll cry on the train home with holes in our hearts,
purity crashes experience, flames enrage.
but need not forget, life is a beautiful gateway,
to an afterlife of contentment and minimum wage.