Fullfilled life is not a life
'Cause it never thinks to do any great
And loses identity after death
Only things that it searches is only length
And it's full of favour and fret
And whole it's repeating speeches is so brief
In counting, not even on pages
It has much wages
But all wealths it has to leave to another hand
And names lose itself as if it was written on sand.



Night, 31/01/2024