For you have nothing else,
Sure, tons of folk are predicting what's next,
They're thinking of themselves,
Of where they'll be when this is all over,
Hoping ahead of you,
I know, this all sounds so pessimistic,
So please, keep continuing what you do,
Fret over each day's new dire piece of news,
That's stunting all your thoughts,
Be completely unprepared when you're told,
"Your paying job's now not."
It's a new world,
Arrange the fallen shards,
That once formed everything you believed,
Made up your only ever hand of cards.
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