They say that life `round here is tragicomic,
With a-bombs and aplomb and much sardonic;
It depends on point of view
(though these words i might just rue),
But much there is that simply says "moronic".

Of course I don't refer at all to you.
I know there isn't fuck-all one can do.
There's what we have, for what it's worth,
Like Queequeg's coffin was his berth,
And everyone should know that this is true.

Perhaps this is not pedagogical --
This consideration, ontological --
But it's something kin to biological

In all its dubious necessity.

And if you're thinking theologically
Then the answer will come pathologically
To shake your wide world ecologically --

If it should ever come to you at all.

For in lack there comes a certain sort of mirth
That grows with the diminishing of girth,
And though the truth is grim
And is careless as a whim,
Its laughter's prettier than tears at birth.

But thusly are our chances also slim --
The wind of fate's immune to our best trim.
We reap what we shall sow
As I'm fairly sure you know --
For it's blindness that the dark is set to limn...

It's blindness that the dark is set to limn.