Nothing has a taste, nothing last
Nothing means much
Not now nor yesterday
And perhaps,
The days to come aren't that grand.
Nothing blazes and shines,
Nothing lives, nothing thrives,
For all things come to pass,
And too a silence comes,
A voice broken
In a recipient apathethic
To things unremarkable,
For lost are all things,
And names and colors
Lost in the remembering
Of names undeserving,
Nothing wills the life
Of the carcass, of the skin,
Stone-like eyes,
Were once everything shone
-
[Who made the man so weak?
So fragile to those things that lurk in the mind,
To my dreams of days gone by,
And to a future that, i know, will never come true.
Who made me a liar, a traitor,
Who made me a cold-faced bastard?
Oh, but all things go down,
Washed down in a bottle or two.]
