A ticking time bomb
Strapped to my neck
Dragging me down
To the depths of the depths.
Which will kill me first,
The pressure, the bomb, or I,
And does it even matter anyways?
When my time comes
And I’m six feet under
Who’s going to remember
All I have said and have done?
I admire the human persistence to go on,
As if hell isn’t nipping at our fingertips,
As if heaven isn’t a man-made myth.
We’re all sinners dressed as saints,
Waiting for our time to fly.
And when that day comes,
Our polyester wings will flail,
Like Icarus, we’ll plummet and fall.