My dear darling,
So afraid of ticking time,
Change and Chaos, chanting rhymes.
Don’t you know?
There’s only death in the end, drawn curtains – a guillotine on all the fancy
Language dies, thought survives maybe a second longer and ends and it all comes full circle
Does is matter how you tend to it? – cloth and boxes and fires, it’s all the same really.
We all want to end pretty but can we?