No One Gets Out Alive

Though (supposedly) only the good die young, urn holding cremated ashes a mere cup full, every last man standing falls, cuz nobody else escapes un pup yule lore blitzkrieg, or aging gracefully, the unavoidable eventual fate, (mortal fateful demise), sans the remaining unsung anonymous peoples meet up with the grim reaper, who will ineluctably disrupt the carryings on with each and every individual (non plus ultra all other life forms as well) gradually or with abrupt, and unannounced debut scythe lent lee appearing to whisk away the honest and/or corrupt whether taking their first meal of the day, and/or last sup per, perhaps sitting quietly, when body electric amp pare rent lee receives ohm my word fatal invite, whereat permanent shocking quiescence doth, sans stealth maneuver erupt tragically, indiscriminately, and blithely mowing down innocent civilians, and/or training fate squarely upon heads of soldiers life during wartime, where opposing armies regale while marching men go hup... to three fore (akin to a story field day), winning booby prize, viz counting on qua, asper winning lottery and/or Stanley Cup major blood bath rendered significant counting coup whereat each opposing fighting force figuratively doth slew the other, analogously dost defeat making mince meat re: as uniformed brigades in heat of wanton killing fields sliced minced, chopped nada so vary neat, via stealth unable dupe, nor cheat death be not proud, et cetera, nonetheless, grimly forced to greet a bonanza coup won, only tubby beat tin to pulp by adept skull and excellent fleet of foot (top notch crafted) sweet (albeit) temporary victory tasting said treat assailing, bruiting , and/or weathering stance versus alternating between defensive and/or offensive use of cross bones, in a hail of bullets instantaneously didst greet fast and furious i.e. suffering deadly raking har row ring slaughter, an entire phalanx gone, where (metaphorical terrible swift sword) no uniformed fighter can never call retreat.