At the end of the race

make em say:

to hell with these eyes they’ve seen too much

this tongue is all rotten with tasteless buds

what ears are these they’ve heard enough

and liver? What gall you, it’s all washed up!

His sole’s so worn, all callus and rough

even nail beds torn up from climbing so much

lips like a canyon, dried, cracked and his blood

it’s cheaper than whiskey, diluted with love!

To hell with his soul, heaven’s full and what?

His brain, are you mad? It’s pondered enough.

What use is this flesh, it’s ancient as stone

he’s breathed his last breath, he’s skull and crossbones!