It brushed across my knuckles, cutting my skin.
It was hard and thin:
But it was razor sharp.
The tune was off, like that of a harp.
It was twisted and evil:
Like something from the devil.
This life may be slow, hard and full of trial:
But after a little while,
The sun behind the clouds breaks through.
All that’s left to do:
Whatever you’re going to bring
To life: make it count.
And sell, out
The tickets to your dreams
And let your heart burst at the seams.