An existentialist sewer is my home,
I hear there read my death knells tome.
Upon my back I always bear;
that load that signifies my care.
At times it bends me like a reed
weighed down by both wind and seed.
At other times it floats away
to come again another day.
So though there’s days my back is bent
I think that load is Heaven sent;
it teaches me that I can stand
upon this place that is my land.