When our bones turn to dust
And our towers to rust
When the last man’s alone
And there’s no one to trust
Will the world be a friend
On which he can depend
Or a cruel executioner
Planning his end
A Poetic Dive into the Creative Unconscious
When our bones turn to dust
And our towers to rust
When the last man’s alone
And there’s no one to trust
Will the world be a friend
On which he can depend
Or a cruel executioner
Planning his end