My heart could be filled
But truth be told …
My days are numbered here.
This disease is terminal.
The doctors don’t know what to do.
“Well,” he says as he raps spindly hands
“You can’t stay forever in the land of the damned.”
Indeed Father Time.
It appears I’ve been diagnosed with life.
I can’t stop my feet from wandering
Or my mind from pandering
The sweet effects of a sunset over the sea.
I suddenly, it seems, have things
I need to be
Rather than this old burnt out bag of flesh
And crumbling calcium deposits collected for me.
So tell me dear, tell me love
You know our days are numbered here …