Even if you have life's maintenance machine
Well-oiled, even if you're just the mechanic
To keep it running, you need supplies, friend,
And you need to be able to reel them in.
If you can't, that's the end. You're the rest
Of what you couldn't, yourself, collect, fuel
For something else's little, hungry misery.
The bugs who need fodder crawl over your skin.
But it's a three-part argument to your mind,
Raised on flesh and human deities. Resurrect
Your wish to continue just at the last nonexistent
Moment and recollect your reflective mysteries.