You foolish people,

all filled with dreams.

Set your goals,

and watch them turn to cream.

Black, Gray, Green spotted rotting cream,

that is what has become of your dreams.

For you set your goals way to high,

and all that’s left for you is to die.

You can die while flying high,

or you can die while crawling low.

You can roll up and cry,

or hide yourself in a hole.

For die you will,

when there is nothing left.

By a shot to the head,

or pull on the neck.

Then you will lie there,

soaking up the cold.

Nothing to have, nothing to hold,

just you and the cold.

CALDER WOLFE