Where from this slip of stones...

Where from this slip of stones, be carved upon

Those thoughts of mine?

What shape and hue to make a me

restored in grinding wreck of rock?

He tumbles, changes altogether

Lost beneath it all, forever rolls away to dust,

Endeavour's bound within the lock,

Till through these ancient pleas,

our fleeting self descends in grains and scatters,

Pulled in fright to trembled knees,

Where all that's lost is all which matters,  

So senseless does a man become

when from the ever churn of 

life does build a wall about his space,

A mask upon an empty face.