To the tune of postponement, the things I will do
That I don’t much like doing lie languid in lack
Of my utmost attention. Don’t mention those things.
Sheer paralysis of the will is what it brings.
I would be fit to fist fuck were I given flack.
Such things are mine to put off as guilt may accrue.

Why the hell am I doing things I clearly hate?
Will I get something for it? Is it of some worth?
Who will build me a statue? All in unison
Shout it out through a bullhorn. Not much have I done.
Were I a human doing since my ancient birth
Instead of just a being, would my life be great?

There is nothing to get here but our daily rest.
We live life in a manner intense and profound
Or we don’t. In the end, what will happen to all
Is a burning or burying. What will enthrall
And excite me can keep me from running aground.
My preponement of such things ensures I am blessed.