Little Too Late

concrete punching bagw

How is it even possible
In one single lonely week
Your whole life come’s down to nothing
And the future’s looking bleak

Everything you’ve ever worked for
Drifts away before your eyes
All the blood sweat and the tears
Hardens solid as it dries

Now it stands just like a monument
To all you sacrificed
But that statue a’int worth nothing
As with art, there is no price

Until the artist isn’t breathing
Isn’t living anymore
Like what you do is of no value
Till you can’t do it anymore

Then perhaps at just that instant
When you draw your final breath
They stop and gasp and act surprised
And become mournful of your death

But the irony is this- its just too late
And now they know
That you really were worth something
And they should’ve told you so

This entry was posted in Uncategorized and tagged , , , . Bookmark the permalink.