Autumn is coming to a close,
and winter is drawing near.
Life is as fragile as a rose,
and mine is withering, I fear.

My fight has lasted far too long,
and I simply cannot go any further.
This disease has taken all I have,
yet the doctors say I can't be helped.
So here's to giving up,
and here's to lying down.
This world is a cruel place,
but I may not be here long.
So if tomorrow I do not wake,
I pray the lord my soul to take.

I love the way it hurts,
and I hate the way it heals.
For when the wounds do heal
a scar is always left behind.