So beautifully flowing,
so sporadically chaotic,
so miraculously conjoined,
the fact of existance,
as we live to simply not be.
Nothing may begin if there be no end,
a spectacularly normal finale.
Sooner or later the fat lady must belt her most beloved note,
but you or I will not hear our own meldious tone of resonance.
The fact of life is fridgedly hollow,
we live to die,
all that remains on the in-between is simply killing time,
waiting for the clock to strike "0:00:00:00.00",
along with the flow,