This all sounds very cyclical

 i could stand it on a bicycle 

but my feet are killing me 

instilling me with regret

 filling me with doubt 

about what life's really about. 

the vultures are circling the culture

and its giving in 

living in sin and drowning in gin

 with the outsiders frowning looking in...

Theresa time to grow old and a time to grow cold.

This time fits neither mold

This couldnt have been bought

Despite you fascination with currency 

The trite dedication to tyranny 

Fall in line in time to get your dime

Fine by me

My time is here 

My Time is NOW

Fear for me dear 

Tear for me dear

To late to hear from me 

To late to be near to me 

But what is time to be so late.

What is love without some hate?

Where is eden when the seventh trumpet is rung?

Where will we be 

When the Patron saint of the LOST and the DAMNED

has sung her song to every last man? 

Will this span of time prove lucrative 

or is it the incentive to lie down 

without a sound

calm before the storm

worn and torn 

dying