Boxed Up

You do what you do, then you’re done.
You get sick, you get hurt, you get
Shot, you crash, you starve, or you rot.

You try to make up your own mind,
You’ll go too soon, or mess it up,
Or they’ll dig a hole in the dirt,

Where roads cross, for you and your name
To lie with a stake through your heart.
There’s no way to not make this hard—

Quick hard or slow. So there you go.
Now where were we? Oh, yes, right, life!
The world is all in front of you

So long as you can still draw breath.
The fact your world’s all yours to lose
Is the gift in that box from death.