While climbing up a hill,
I only wished I had thought ahead,
And, left some sort of will,
For I wokeup as I went crashing down,
Toward the big trees below,
Of course I had no money to leave my heirs,
Just a cabin in the snow,
And, I knew they would have to live there soon,
Because none can hold a job,
And, all will be broke by one cycled moon,
Without this working slob,
But, although they'll have nowhere to go,
They'll sell the cabin in the snow,
For they will want the cash to blow,
Then, they'll reap from what they sew,
But, as I fall I still regret,
Maybe a will could save them yet,
Not selling the cabin would be the bet,
But no, I fear the future's set.
