Cynic

Hey comrade,
what will it be like,
on the day we face our mortal lives?
We're all given,
the misfortune of loss,
But that's a gift we call impermanence,
We don't own our work,
we don't own the earth,
at all
We're eternal Nunc Stans soldiers,
the eternal warriors.
We're accountants,
in the firm of life,
entrusted with a body, heart and mind.
Hey comrade,