We are quite behind in this existence.
Ninety-nil is grim beyond persistence.
We owe, we owe, and off we go to earn.
The answer’s tinder; just how much must burn.
Wood, bark, limb, park, vested vail and forest.
Cede your ground without a sound, let nature be your florist.
The rich will never care about the poorest.
And criminals are men but for the jurist.
We tree into eternity to leave.
Departure’s much too easy to believe.