The Race is to the Swift!

The race ain’t to the Swift                And you drag your feet because eternity is on your breast?                   The race ain’t to the Swift                    And you sleep in the shadows of death while you snore on like a pig.  Your unfinished business lies over and about you like dust.                         Your ideas regret ever popping on your head.                                                 You think this is tortoise and hare race so you err.                                           See!                                                           THE END IS NEAR!!!       

Nearer is your death.                         Fair is the grave than breathing while irrelevance hugs you tight.       Buy your coffin while you may.          The world hates your being.                You think your thousand years of dragging and slurping like snail will lead you to your grace.                                  Sleep on, Friend

While the Swift take your baton.        And run your race worse than you ever will and still win.                          Sleep on, while the world run.             Wake when the moon is out and open your eyes in the grave.

I say again: the race is to the Swift who knows when and how to speed!