In 200 years, a new generation will
give birth to a new style of music
and I will be dead
They will be concerned with things
of their nature, the love and
the pain, and I will be dead
They will go to war and
make new things
they will play new games and
cheer for new teams
they will fight and fuck and
work hard and worry about
their future and hate their
shitty jobs
They will talk about co-workers
behind their backs
they will cheat on their taxes
and get really high on
some new drug that will
kill a few thousand
I will not worry
as that universe will not
belong to me and the worms
would long be done feasting
on me and the memory of
who I was will no longer exist
except perhaps on a random
picture or family video
I will be walking in the
background or sitting at
a table, smiling
and they will oohhh ahhhhh
look at how different
things were back then
I wonder how it would be
to live a simpler life, and I’ll
be sitting there, a ghost
on a chair, thinking of
my day, wondering about
tomorrow, worried about
a loved one, trying to be
my best.
And nothing will matter
any longer, my life was
improbable and unimportant
just a tiny number that
is no longer there
just a simple man that
the world couldn’t tame.