i only ever thought of death in the winter how happy he must be to have some company out of doomed and regretful souls
i only ever thought of death as a spectator an audience, a witness i never thought of death as something more ?– more than a plague to be avoided, a sickness
i only ever thought of death at three in the morning about how life has me as a gift for it about how we live to die, but still die to live i think about my own wake, where i’m not even awake although i might as well be, if i hear people crying and mourning too loudly
i only ever thought of death not once knowing of, or knowing anything about it because if i had known death i would have recognized it when i saw you at **first sight
i should've known better, with the way you held me – a doomed and regretful soul as your company. // man in the moon, won't you come home soon?