Oh! snatched away in beauty's bloom,
On thee shall press no ponderous tomb;
But on thy turf shall roses rear
Their leaves, the earliest of the year;
And the wild cypress wave in tender gloom:

And oft by yon blue gushing stream
Shall Sorrow lean her drooping head,
And feed deep thought with many a dream,
And lingering pause and lightly tread;
Fond wretch! as if her step disturbed the dead!

Away! we know that tears are vain,
That Death nor heeds nor hears distress:
Will this unteach us to complain?
Or make one mourner weep the less?
And thou—who tell'st me to forget,
Thy looks are wan, thine eyes are wet.

I buy my ticket every week,
My rational mind, it takes a backseat,
They say I've got no chance, the odds are slim,
But you’ve got to be in it, to ever win.

I see the winners on TV,
They're just like me, it could be me,
But I don't see the countless souls,
Who’ve thrown their money in the hole.

If it’s so easy, then why do we wait?
With rollovers stacking, it’s a tempting bait,
A win could change my life, I believe it’s true,
But the money I’ve lost could have changed it too.

It's a tax on the poor, a fool's delight,
A game of chance that fills the night,
I know I'm one, both poor and dumb,
Yet every week, here I come.

The numbers spin, they taunt my brain,
The odds, they dance, drive me insane,
More likely to be hit, crossing the street,
But my heart skips a beat, with every heat.

We can’t grasp the chance, the odds so vast,
But hope springs eternal, as long as it lasts,
We dream of a future, a fortune's embrace,
Blind to the math, it's a desperate chase.

I see the numbers, they blur and blend,
But still I play, and I pretend,
That someday soon, my luck will turn,
But deep inside, my doubts still burn.

Yet here I stand, ticket in hand,
Hoping for that promised land,
Ignoring the truth, the bitter pain,
That my dreams are just a gambler's game.

I’m a lottery addict, chasing a lie,
With dreams so high, and odds so shy,
Every ticket bought, a hope anew,
In this endless game, I see it through.