we set for life a minimum of hell that we'll allow br request of fate, post-dated guarantees br and retro-active second chances, br good for many years. br and for each bolted door, a set of keys. br br we frame for life the circumstances br we would let occur. br accepting no misfortune willingly. br then cunningly convince ourselves we're able to ensure br against the careless whim of destiny. br br until the day that fate in her beneficient caprice br awakens us from our mistaken views. br and briskly sends a consequence br with no apparent cause; br some sad disaster we would never choose. br br then we wail against injustice, as we air our grand complaint br and fail to bear the burden quietly. br in our stupendous arrogance, we never question why; br but demand to know the answer to: br 'why me? '.