Written by: laszlo kecsedi

When I do think on the past days of my life
There seems to be a thread I do realize
From the moment of my birth `tis but a strife
Each step takes me closer to my demise
Life`s a journey, it is often said
A world of mirrors that can bend and stretch
This realm of ghosts, ne`er to know what`s ahead
Struggling till Death comes all of us to fetch
But of that day and hour knoweth no man
We scurry hither and thither, then go suddenly sour
Spoiled so soon; the game we barely began
The ominous bells are tolling, hour after hour
The curtains rise, and fall they must
We are made from, and must return to dust