fire burns
water burns
but nothing burns
most of all

the height of living
is almost dying
rain matters not
at the waterfall

in the desert,
life is born
only to die in the sea

the dust in the air
are the bones of the old
in the land of the money
the slave is most free

the gentle breeze
tears down mountains
the stars above
are always too dark
the relentless clock of hatefull time
makes new lives begin to die

a glimpse of life is more than needed
before the chance at death

yet few receive
a shoulder to lean
those who do resent

and our envy our envy
is most deserved
to those whose time well spent