As I look outside my dreary window

Witnessing my life slipping away now

Time, the evil bastard, does not slow

I can’t save myself, I do not know how

From bugs, to leaves on their little branchings

Are they aware of Time’s pressure too?

Do they also ponder their true meanings?

Time is subject that many misconstrue

The sunlight through my drapes, is it a waste?

They travel eight minutes to reach no one

To reach nothing but me, the self-disgraced

“Everything has a purpose my dear son”

Well that's pretty convenient isn’t that

Enough time I have wasted here I sat