Larvas may fly as butterflies
All moves they try are old in skies
Partying wile! come out in style
In a short while, we all will die.
On chopping boards we are capons
Life grabbed the horns, and toss a coin
Not all that churn, spread butter on
Like rhinos horns, unequal torn
Finger are not, same bolts and nuts
Nights batter hats, it hurts a lot.
Up comes the sun, we think we won
But we are born to take a turn
There is no cure to our failure
It is for sure, life is impure.