Parody of Life
You're lying there; a fallen being,
I watch your chest: its slowly heaving.
The monitor's beeps slowly quicken,
I watch your face, for it seems stricken.
The nurses come to calm you down,
Then leave again with worried frowns.
But I don't care that you are sicker,
Or that your eyes can barely flicker.
It's simple really, don't you see
That our life's just a parody?
We scurry 'round like giant rats
In fancy suits and bowler hats.
We dash about like busy bees
Battling against the constant breeze.
But what's it for? To make some honey?
Our main goal is to have money.
Are our lives just a joke?
The filler time before we croak?
It's simple really – plain to me
That our life's just a parody.
Joke's over now, I've had enough
Of life and other crummy stuff.
And after life we'll sit and rot:
We might as well be cooking pots.
There's no way we will go to heaven
If we fall off of platform seven.
We'll just die – and that is that,
When the train comes we'll just go splat.
It doesn't matter – because, you see,
My life's just a parody.
I come back out of my short trance,
And swiftly give you one quick glance.
This stupid, simple, feeble life,
That gave you hurt and causes strife
Would sooner end by my own knife
Than feed you pain with which it's rife…
I pull it out. The metal gleams.
Your tearful eyes cry silent screams.
The monitor's beeps slowly quicken,
I watch your face, for it seems stricken.
My knife comes down. I hold the handle.
The parody ends like a brief candle.