It matters not.

It matters not, this uncouth world,
with all it's spinning never stopped,
this place we stand to whirl around,
and make no difference anyhow.

It matters not, this life we live,
with all it's trouble and it's fun,
we live to pass our time just once,
and leave this world to other men.

It matters not, this love we give,
with all it's meaningful attempt,
for when we leave our love is gone,
and we, but lingering memories.

It matters not, this job we do,
with all it's so called importance,
there are others who can do as well,
and they will do it half the price.

It matters not, those left behind,
with all their mourning and their grief,
we are not here to comfort them,
and they will pass, themselves, in time.

It matters not, what I have wrote,
with all these words upon the page,
for when i'm gone and it's forgotten,
and no-one cares, it matters not.