I can smell vanity a mile away,
Like a festering wound covered up
In finest perfume and cleverest shadows.
Some things ought to rot
Be swept away and sucked under.
If you could live forever
Would you really want to?
The promise of death is a blessing.
I’ll be vile enough a creature
In eighty long years.
I don’t want to meet the person
Who’s hitched a thousand rides
Around the sun, insistent it’s still fun.
– Vagabond Prophet
Vagabond Prophet 