Passing Death

The faulted fail to see another day,

Lives halted by the game they’re forced to play,

The melancholy frames they drag to death,

The years gone by they feel are wasted breath.

It seems these sinners have lost their sense of self,

Unloved, they don’t belong, left on the shelf,

Their ultimatum signals shear defeat,

The wretched ones are rogue in their retreat .

And time is ticking on it stops for none,

And all the sins are made, what’s done is done,

And only few are sad to see you go,

And only you are mad to be this low.