When the poet no longer has a muse,
and the comedian's jokes cease to amuse,
when the artist's paint has all run dry,
and dreams of immortality start to die,
and we think back to the days that we now miss,
not even all that happiness was worth this,
then paint one last picture and tell one last joke,
write one more poem and on your words they'll choke,
because what we're doing may not be right,
but I for one shall go down with a fight.