N'matter what your mind says,
It has little control,
Over the body in which it is housed,
When it decides to go,
Like when you have cancer beyond repair,
You're alive with an end,
More predictable than the av'rage guy,
So there is no luxury to pretend,
That you might live to a hundred and five,
Many people do that,
To put off doing what their heart desires,
Just a trick in their hat,
Like mind cancer,
Spreading lies in your thoughts,
For what could you call it other than death,
When your true dreams and desires just rot?
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