It starts with the shock.
The disbelief, the sudden pain of what you've lost.
Lives, like matches, will burn out.
But the time and place that may occur, that's what worries me most.

Every word, every action could be the last. Nothing lasts.
Some things, the things that make you choke and cry and wish them false, are too hard to ask.

Each dew on the grass is a fatal item, every bird that sings
and every human on the earth.
No one deserves to go.
No one deserves to go.

It started with shock,
And it ended with a truth.
I, along with everyone else, am vital.
I am true.
And though his matchstick has now burnt out,
He was too.