He slinks through life, but does not live,
There's no empathy in his heart, that, he cannot give;
The friends and the family, they are out of range,
And love, and happiness, he dares not engage.
What purpose can he find, when the sun no longer shines?
This animated corpse, that play acts through time,
A spouse next to him in his bed,
But to all purposes, she behaves as if he's dead.
Woe to him, this man-thing, this soul barely on this side of the mortal plain,
A person that cannot grow, and has nothing to gain;
Woe to him, that has no willpower,
Woe to him, that cannot smell the aroma of life's flower.
