Grave Yard Vanity

Looking down from great heights the creatures on the wing must think us a buffoonish infestation. Great metropolises, tiny towns, road side food stands all appearing as oozing scabs on the face of this hapless mud ball. Bits of natural skin peaking thru but manicured neatly with rows of decorative cement ornaments. All for what ? a place to store our empty shells once we have left this Shakespearian envied farce of a life. We are born, we breed, we die, and then they place us in a cement box inside the ground preserved as though we were in some back woods hillbilly cannery. Our flesh chemically enhanced in order to keep safe our lifeless soulless corpses for generations to come (who could care less about some ancient ancestor). The shear vanity of it all overwhelms me . Once again it's saddening to madness.