Down, down into that pit they slip, Those souls, once proud with haughty lip. Each one clings to a hangman's rope, A shriveled thong to hold his hope. But long abuse saps strength away And weakened string allows no play; The fool lies on the bottom soon And foolish, reaches for the moon. But you and I -- ah, we are wise! We shall not trick ourselves with lies. Each day we'll strive to make our chain A wee bit stronger for the strain. What is that noise, a cracking kink? God, save us from that weakened link! Our last request, the only boon -- Prevent our reaching for the moon! |