Death propped up by lines and hopes
The fiddler plays despite docs dope
Say goodbye is his song
The inevitable won't take long

Deaths shroud, flutters in time
It's your last call, use the dime
As scrubs fade away, and doves appear
The fiddlers music becomes crystal clear

A solid beep, underscores his chords
A brief replay of life's awards
He leads me off, at a parades pace
It seems I've come, to the end of the race

Lines are cut, and the shroud covers
He embraces me, like a long lost lover
The music stops, have arrived at fate
Just outside, a rusty fence and gate