Idleness and Idlesness; all the same in vain.
For the slow sloth teaching
is breaching and beseeching
and slowly pulls out the drain.
Cold hands are warning as no blood flows.
The broken inactive
brings bones retroactive
and the mind drags and slows.
For lunch pulls out the beckoning cry.
This then is breathing
in cold heart bereaving
in the sit and slow of sigh.
We built the Devil his playground.
With our bars he will monkey
for days we smell funky
and blubber fewer sounds.
Our swords have rusted to hilt.
Perhaps we could try
but then we may die;
'tis better to not bear the guilt.
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