In the time of dying vicariously I lose my life through you I hold my breath and wait for me But I know not what I should do In the midst of time we sit and wait for our crosses to bear the fruit of our collective disobedient behaviour But the fruit never seems to arrive as promised by our masters, for the crimes of bodily integrity Yet I sit and observe the fruit being borne to those promised the earth in payment for theirs Only these fruits are not fresh from the vine but rotten and decomposed in the midst of time In the time of dying vicariously I scrabble around for hope But all I see are swords of damocles Hanging by a rope In the midst if time I wander through the ghosts of a society that linger in the passageways What has become of this Mary Celeste as it floats like an empty vessel And the unchartered waters through which it sails are fraught with invisible dangers And the once fit sailors of this beautiful shrine Slowly dissolve in the midst of time In the time of dying vicariously I observe from a distance vast Yet physically i’m next to thee As slip you into past
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For the last 4 years, as I see the people around me in town, I feel as though I am at a constant funeral, though the soon to be dead do not seem to grok it, I know many of them will be dead before their time. Life expectancy plummeting, though retirement age increasing, now 67. Each death of a working age person represents tens of thousands to millions of dollars in taxes not to be paid back to them. Does Moloch ring a little bell each time? Too busy.
Wow. It's been awhile since you've been inspired. The wait was worth it. :)