Samsara’s a Bitch

Of saints and stoics, sinners and frauds,
never you mind which.
When our day is at an end, not a prayer to send
and Samsara’s still a bitch.

Of coffee-tables, grass-huts or dropped power-lines,
It matters not a stitch.
When the well runs dry, we are all hung up high,
and Samsara’s still a bitch.

Of life or death, heaven or hell,
whatever gilded wagon you hitch
It will run aground, stuck with a soft sucking sound
and Samsara?

Oh, she’s still a bitch.


Image from the Samsara Blues Experiment (a band I have never heard of but has a great name and cool artwork)