There’s not much more to this.
You think so, you say so;
But it’s just one breath after another breath
And another breath after
You think there’s more to this than
Cold winters and mild springs and
Swinging the same hammer at the same nail
Over, and over, and over again–
Surely, there must be more out there–
You think you are destined for a bigger life,
But that doesn’t make your breaths
Any more interesting.