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.
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)