In desperation I cling to thee
Thy warm winters grasp,
And in return you whisper free
To take another pass;

To spread and squeeze and shift once more,
To wallow in the red;
To lay thyself stretched on the floor,
To remember how to beg.

I follow footsteps deep and worn
With ears that strain for breath
And amongst the earth that I have torn
I hear the whisper, "Death."