Death comes close behind it. Daily bread is hard to gain, only few can find it. Little sickle in the sky, buried in a deep, cold darkness. Twinkling stars its tears of grief. All our lives so very brief.
Feet cease to roam, a lonesome traveler travel home.
Useless days of jams and jellies. Mighty nights on steady feet. Hungry children's swollen bellies, those of others all replete. Life who carries sorrow's thorn. Death who never flinches.