Let me tell you a story,
Of death and a boy.
The boy was dead inside,
Outcasted and harassed,
But his friend and at last his family.

So walking along the street,
No one else had gone upon,
With his ****** body,
And crazy mice.
He met death a waiting.

As his time had come first.
Death incarnate,
And Living Death,
They talked and slowly but surely,
Became the best of friends.

He did not plead for his life,
Or beg to acquiesced,
Death being surprised,
At someone so unsure, being so content.
Broke the Law and the Word,
And let the boy go away.

One day the boy was a man,
In his own disfigured way.
Innocent at heart,
****** in all but the brain.
He walked with stones,
Hoping the weigh his fate.

And Death still followed,
As the protector and procreator,
The one friend that remained.

But alas Death grew sad,
As he looked ahead in time,
And saw that this lie would have to be corrected,
Dave would have to die.

So along the beaten path,
That got colder and colder,
The man became sad,
Yet sure in his task.
Suicide was his only option,
His desire for control on his fate.
What irony, what pity,
To see the trap that lay.
The universe is a cruel thing,
And it had been made late.

The man got to the cliff, at the end of the forest,
When readying to jump,
The lion took him head first,
And mauled, and ungutted,
He screamed and begged for help.

But his screams did not last long,
As Death settled in.
The look of fear, of recognition,
And a lone tear let out,
With his last lifeful look,
Into the eyes of his very first and last friend.