Period.

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It’s like a county fair
That was drowned out by the rain;
It’s like some garnet roses
That have started to decay;

It’s like a beaming picture
That was crudely cut in two;
It’s like a skilled oration
With a climax of ah-choo;

It’s like a sunny meadow
Where a factory is built;
It’s like a charming prospect
That results in monstrous guilt;

It’s like a tired simile
That delays the simple point:
Death may sound fair, but once you’re there
It’s bound to disappoint.





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