Uncle, tell me a bedtime story!
Promise me sleep right after that?
Bearded myths say there’s a purgatory
Right after death, right after begat.
Its goddamned inmates are forever doomed to
Never succeed in finding ease of breath,
Getting sick with chronic, emotional flu,
Insides torn ‘tween flame life and ice death.
No way, Iron Uncle, do they still have human pith!
Godspeed, Tiny Tin. People are just a silly ancient myth.