Lying on my death bed,
Your face is all I see,
The only thing worth living for,
The only one I need.
An arrow in my stomach,
A pain like none before,
My breath heaving in shallow gasps,
Torture I have in store.
Your face above mine dulls it,
It fades the stinging crush,
You whisper-sing a lullaby,
And so descends a hush.
Numbness and unfeeling now,
All I see is you,
All I hear is your soft voice,
And so it guides me through.
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The damage is done, The wounds have bled, The night, no longer, Seeing red. My body lies, Upon this rock, Bled out, bone dry, Against the clock.
Lay me round in the thistle-down. Brushing softly on my skin,. Make a bed of scarlet roses. So fragrant will my end have been. Line my hair with daisies fair. Hide each red and shining mark.
The air between our spirits hangs with bittersweet retrace I hang upon your every breath, measuring the pace.
The Great Lover I have been so great a lover: filled my days So proudly with the splendour of Love's praise, The pain, the calm, and the astonishment, Desire illimitable, and silent content, And all...
My body's Weary, My eyes have gone bleary, I'm tired to the bone. My end arrives nearly, And so I see clearly, I've past sins to atone.
Didn't head my own expedition. Didn't call my own conditions. I was never the one. I was never the special one. Did I take it for granted. Did I pull my own chain. I was never that one.
They say poets write about love while they sleep. What do they know of love, what secrets do they keep. I write about love, not knowing the word. It is just an idea that seems quite absurd.
Close your eyes one final time, And take your final breath, I'll meet you on the other side, Now sink into your death.
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