Think it Through

Oh what becomes of a hominid brain
When the heaven of pleasure takes a stroll
And daily logistics seem like a drain
That drags away what is left of a soul
And meaning is lost in an endless sky
That seems to serve only to suck or blow
So harshly that even a stone could cry
And melt down into Hell's magmatic flow
Where hopes are all turned into poison pills
Rudely injected into cracks of doom
Like the way a vein can fissure cheap thrills
For a dying artery's final flume,
As if it were a bargain to borrow...
An entire future to pay for sorrow!