This Spinning Rock

 

All alone together, before a ticking clock

All alone together, upon this spinning rock

 

Crowded on the finite, reap to barron ground

A quiet on the land, a death that has no sound

Trudge the mire of squandered wealth

Yet ceaseless life persists with stealth

And then when gone beneath the ground

No more a trace oof us be found

 

All alone together, before a ticking clock

All alone together, upon this spinning rock