The End

We are born but to die,
to do, not reason why.
What breaks nature will mend.
What exists nature will end.

Some men wish to live forever
and so they endeavour
to break creations plan.
But they never can.

Our time ticks away
with the passing of each day.
Just what do they mean,
all those fantasies never seen?
Our friends pass away.
We never know just what to say.
We've no idea where they go.
But our time will come to know.

Great men make history
but so few of them see
just as our cities will turn to rust
all the great men turn to dust.
We seek immortality through our books,
the ones that fill the nooks,
yet their pages will rot
as the timeless war is fought.
We build monuments to our dead.
"So they are remembered" it is said.
Realize it is true,
one day no one will remember you.

Ashes to ashes, dust to dust,
our death is but a must.
If life is to remain
darkness must take our brain.
It is right that we pass on
because once we are gone,
thought our sacrifice seems mild,
it makes way for the next child.

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copyright Skippy / Adrian Smith -- 2001
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