Creep's Caveat

Here's twenty-nine - it's just a matter of time.

While it's a shame,

you're to blame.

You'll leave a lot for the rest of us,

spent as a sign sent to a generation.

Luck's not a lady,

up's down on the ricochet,

but you leave all sense of yourself for the weekend.

History shows what you don't want to know.

May I alert you to work done

by science and circumstance?

The lift of your face,

like they see you from space …

remember: "lest you forget how the scales are set."

You're smart as an upstart

but stupid as a suicide.

Luck's not a lady,

up's down on the ricochet,

but you've lost all sense of your own regulation.

Worn flow's gone again.

That's it,

I don't know how to help you more.

You won't see dawn again.

I hear a lone violin weeping.

And it's your kind of Saturday - here's you in bed,

scared of sleeping.

Sad old man,

long-forgotten friend,

you're tiny in the end.

Weakness of the heart,

finished from the start.