More visceral rot follows.

---

Leaves blowing in the wind are like people,
Every moment sighing,
Every moment dying.

Oh, to wake up tomorrow
To a white sky!
Where the claws of the past,
And the clouds of the future
Are both dreams we wake up from.

An empty cupboard shelves his trophies,
But his mind is always strong
Tonight, he could lose everything,
But in the morning, he will live life as though
There were a life to be lived.

The thinker sits alone and frowns,
His reflection in the water is
Always beyond reach.
And as he gazes at the eyes that made him
He turns his back on the last great doorway
And with a new face returns
Back to the world he lives in
A world where a man is
Every moment sighing,
Every moment dying.