Valkyries

We grow old, fail, and reach our ends
In the cities where we are just faces
In crowds, no longer choosers of the slain,
Just fat old women singing for our supper
In Opera Houses, watching the hunger
In the thin children who'll come next
And knowing that sooner, sooner
Than we'd like, we'll be singing
On street corners, dying in alleys,
With no one to carry us into the halls
Of Valhalla, just cold and our songs
Ending on the uncaring streets,
Discarded like litter with no one to care,
A private Ragnarök where the enemy
Is only and ever the need for fame
And the empty ends glory comes to.