I lay in the abyss, where twisting squeezing br The lowest form of life pushed itself peristaltically. br Where slippery and slimy worm and eel entwined, br I was a worm myself, overwhelmed with exhaustion. br br This lasted an eon before I succeeded, br And one of my senses could slowly lift itself up, br The sense of hearing. Listening, it scouted out if br The dancer, Death, had finally waltzed into the distance. br br I eavesdrop breathless. Then a sparkling chromatic scale br Flows wanly from the open window next door. br Maybe Death is sitting there tuning his piano. br br And while my life enjoys zestfully eating and fills with gas, br I feel him lean in that requisite little side room, br Where he invisibly reads, rustling the evening paper.