hic et caecum i nunc puto

There goes on a rhythmic march with a funeral tone/ The ludic farrow to the dreary end zone/ Conducted by the clock, the ancestor and the successor/ Taken by the inherited tale of unknown creator// In a daze by the ideas of those who came before/ They received as a gift the garment of work/ Now turned into debt by the jerk/ That from the audience engulfs them and always wants more// Will even a single rat get out of the row?