Everyone has a date
some early others
maybe late
They call it a
persons fate
In the mean time
the clock ticks on
the forces of gravity
continue to act upon

Many don't appear worried
They continue to walk
with their heads burried
They inhale the Lords
fresh air
like they just don't care
Treat others like zit
right on up until
their hearts quit
and the brain
no longer transmit

By then it's too late
they've been hit with fate
Heaven or hell awaits
time to collect for
the good or bad traits
Maybe someone will cry
or pray for them
after they die
Who knows
the wind still blows
over the dead bodies froze

opg