The Irony of Life and Death

I haven’t got a fucking thing to trade
I lost it all, and yet, I’m still alive
I’ll never dance, although the piper’s paid
My words will fill his music; I’ll contrive
To use the life I’ve got, like golden coins
Although my coins are counterfeit, like death
I love the way the piper’s song enjoins
The living souls to savor every breath
I’d trade my breath for what I had before
My gold was gold, unlike this fucking lead
It’s only lead.  So what if I’ve got more?
Just place it on my eyes when I am dead
I’ll sink into the river Styx from weight
Of counterfeited life, the life I hate.