I know not the purpose of my lasting will
My role in the circus that moves ever still
No point in playing games that ensue without end
With this annoyance, I've had my fill
For what reason do we continue to toil
Commit to spats and in conflict embroil
Spent effort ant time, only to find
That there is no worth in new soil
Why is it that I must provide my own fare
for amusement and satisfaction in every day
Else suffer some manner in which minds shall impair
one's fragile ability to care
I tire of acts that seem made in vain
I tire of tiring only to complain
For what reason do events drag along without end
Providing a ceaseless refrain?
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