He talks to me of death
like a beautiful love song
There is poetry in his words
but there is none for which I long

We have our last supper
In fact, I feed him the last morsel
He tells me of his life
and that there is time for the final call

I ponder over the last words
and wait for him to fall
there is freedom in his breath
but it smacks of alcohol

I remember we had the last drink together
and had blamed the hot weather
His company is a disease, he tells me
His last words: Don't forgive me brother.

None can save him, he is gone
truth prevails always
even if it's wrong
even if it's wrong