We all meet here everyday
And share our joys and sorrows;
Surely there is no room for rows:
‘Cos Bliss is the order of the day;
Though our childhood is long past gone,
We firmly believe in another Dawn.
We know our end is coming soon
Burring through our lives:
Hell-bent on destroying our hives
With the fierceness of a typhoon.
Though chronologically we are not old,
Unfortunately are in Death’s hold.
Some careless mistakes here and there
Have cost us our precious lives
And they have become the fatal knives
Which have cut us beyond medical care.
Though we are forced to board Death’s cart,
Surely we are not sick at heart.