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;
Wonderfully, terribly, painfully human.
