No the doctors didn't tell you,
that you were dying.
They just collected their money,
And sent you on your way.
But you knew all along,
when on pretending nothing was wrong,
He said: "I will keep my focus, til' the end."
And in the journal you kept,
by the side of your bed.
You wrote nightly in aspiration,
of developing as an author.
Confessing childhood secrets,
of dressing up in woman's clothes,
Compulsions you never knew the reasons to,
Well everyone, you ever meet or love,
be just relationship based on a false presumption,
despite everyone, you ever meet or love,
in the end, will you be all alone?
As the disease spreads slowly through your body,
pumped by your heart to the tips of your arms and your legs,
your greatest fear was that your mind wouldn't last,
your coherency and alertness would be the first things to fade,
as your hair thinned, as the weight fell off, as your teeth blackened,
as the leasons spotted your skin, as you fell to your knees in the center of the stage,
as you oftened witness mortality in exchange for the ticket price,
as the lights blended into the continuing noise,
as all hope was finally lost.
Adrenaline carried one last thought,
to throughition.
Let this be the end.
Let this be the last song.
Let this be the end.
Let all be forgiven.