Dissatisfaction akin to billow
Just when our youthful time flies like an arrow, and while we worked to the marrow , our faces are climbed with deep furrow , our skin had never been as sallow ; our vision in no ways too narrow; our minds by all means so shallow - and life is in truth desperately hollow, with our hearts fully packed with sorrow – but then we still mindlessly follow, convincing ourselves we are acting mellow : lying ourselves willingly under the harrow , as if we are dutiful hallow – and then be trampled upon like yarrow , in time burying ourselves under the barrow …
So, please rise my fellow - together we shall bellow, unleashing agony to the ruthless miser to gallow !
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