Battle Hymn Of The Republic

It's too late I'm G
8 up all my choices crybaby.
We all just pens and fingers, for a eulogy of those been befores.
How does one stay tall today with addiction to shortness?
When you rush you won't feel its keep, permanence is two.
In that two is a living one, the system so ambival.
Sadness gardens happiness so now we are the weeds