Next In Line (a short poem)

Don't worry so much - it is taboo to ponder it in your mind
Shrug the thought and enjoy yourself, it'll be fine
Tic-toc the clock marches on
Tic-toc the clock marches on
March on and on the people do
Towards the twilight's undefining hue
Following the leaders step by step, single file
Though some try to getting out of line for a little while
Till suddenly one way doors are in plain sight
Revealed by the setting sun's dimming light
And towards the final steps other have taken before
You march your last steps across the trotted floor
Too late to turn around or change your mind
You are now the next in line.

[size=7]If you don't get it's a poem about your eventual (and unavoidable) death [/h]