The point is moot, my friends
It never really ends
This climbing of the ladder.
Because every time
That you miss a step
The situation gets badder.
And every time
Someone blocks your way
You get a little madder.
For every time
That you lose your grip
You feel a little sadder.
What does it matter?

And when you reach the top
To get what you've got
There'll be a silver platter.
On which the dinner pig
Will dance a little jig
And get a little fatter.
Then they'll dress you up
Sit you down to sup
You'll feel like the Mad Hatter.
But you'll soon grow tired
Completely wired
So sick of their foolish chatter.
What does it matter?

And when you're sick of it
And don't give a shit
You'll tear your clothes to a tatter.
You'll leave that scene
That's not quite a dream
And get back on the ladder.
You'll slide down the arms
Then regain your charms
And stop spitting like an adder.
Get your feet on the ground
And take a look around
Just feel a little gladder.
Then take a wild guess
Between success and happiness
The preferred is the latter.
You'll know what matters.