The thoughts that fill us daily
Are the stone, the rocks
The pavement, the roads.

These roads we pave,
Sometimes with shit,
Sometimes with silver,
Perhaps with gold.

We pave these roads
  With whatever we find,
    With whatever we can afford.

  But nothing changes the fact
    The simple fact,
      The destination is hell.

  You can plant trees,
    You can have butterflies,
      Deer, birds and bees.

You can move in a car,
  You can walk and
    You can cycle there

It can be midday,
  Or a moonlit night,
Dusk or dawn,
  It matters not.

The road you are on,
It takes you to hell.