Why is life the great struggle?
And why can no headway be made?
Against the tide of emotions, I struggle,
But when I see the mirror,
Just dark potches and scraggly facial hair appear!
Why is life arcane, or is it just devoid
Of substance of any kind?
Are we made of china to be used formally,
But broken again and again?
Is antipathy festering in technology,
To beat the curve and curb?
Not even so many incompetent
Can manufacture such a fiasco as this!