My Hat Lies Half Empty,

Only Because I refuse to Fill it

A world in time divides us
One hand from the other
An eternity waxes on:
Its monotonous metronome
A wake up call to go back to sleep.
There is no future in such waiting
But there's a decadent delight
In whiling away the time in such a wasteful manner
Doing nothing, waiting for time to pass
Waiting for the future to come calling.
Which is does, eventually
But it always forgets to bring the spoils
Of everything ever wanted
But never voiced.
A voice unvoiced is another decadent waste
So that makes two,

Something to show for nothing,
At least there's that.