What is the point of existence?
Who cares what and when anyway?
We’re all born, we all live,
Then we all pass away.
No, we die.
In one hundred years’ time all that remains of us is some humus in the compost heap.
Our memory has faded and our great great grandchildren have no interest
In where we were born, or whether or not we went out last night.
No, they will not care about how we looked when we were fifteen,
They won’t even think about what we did for our Sweet Sixteen.
So why bother now?
Everything that happens will become the past,
And soon we will all merge into one millennium,
To be studied by archaeologists as one big lump.
There is no point!
We’ll go to Heaven, if we live right,
So why not do good deeds and die tonight.
It would save everybody a lot of pain,
Yes they’ll be sad for a while,
But death and mourning clear off like clouds do after the rain.
And instead of a future filled with heartaches and broken dreams,
You can prevent all this, all these horrible scenes,
By just existing until you die.
What is the point of that, you ask,
And I answer ‘If you can tell me the point of living, go ahead’
But I bet you can’t.
Why do you even want to live on this disgusting earth when heaven is ahead?
If I were you, I’d be praying to God for a near death,
Painless and quick,
Something to get you out of this hell.
Purgatory can’t be much worse than this.
I hope God answers my prayer – Good bye.
whenwordsdance 