We are nothing and nothing more:
A thought perhaps, a breath of air,
Contingencies that shift and tear.

Strong or weak or rich or poor,
All are the same who know the fare,
Know we're entitled but to tour
A thought, perhaps a breath of air.

Those who are solid find their core
Is as part of a fleeting share
Of something renewing; so why care
We are nothing and nothing more—
A thought perhaps, a breath of air,
Contingencies that shift and tear.