The Pessimist

Nothing to do but work,
      Nothing to eat but food,
  Nothing to wear but clothes
      To keep one from going nude.

Nothing to breathe but air,
      Quick as a flash ’tis gone;
  Nowhere to fall but off,
      Nowhere to stand but on.

Nothing to comb but hair,
      Nowhere to sleep but in bed,
  Nothing to weep but tears,
      Nothing to bury but dead.

Nothing to sing but songs,
      Ah, well, alas! alack!
  Nowhere to go but out,
      Nowhere to come but back.

Nothing to see but sights,
      Nothing to quench but thirst,
  Nothing to have but what we’ve got;
      Thus thro’ life we are cursed.

Nothing to strike but a gait;
      Everything moves that goes.
  Nothing at all but common sense
      Can ever withstand these woes.

Ben King.