Lying upon the cold hard ground,
Lying there without a sound,
Steady and slow the pulse beats by,
Giving the feeling I’m ready to die.

Yet on I live and on I breathe,
Mourners stand by, ready to grieve,
On I listen to the ticking hand,
All around the mourners stand.

Tissues out and eyes welled ready,
Pulse still there, slow and steady,
Yet all are waiting for me to go,
But on I breathe, steady and slow.

Try me please, ask what you will?
No I’m not dying; no I’m not ill,
I’m waiting simply for my scene to close,
To see the end the writer chose.

Yes, it’s true, I’m nearing death,
Waiting patiently for my final breath,
How will I know it when it’s finally here?
Simply I’ll feel the shadows drawing near.

I’ll feel the shroud fall upon my face,
And feel myself leave this place,
Slowly and silently I’ll depart,
With the final beats of my breaking heart.

The faces are sad and full of remorse,
I’m scared of leaving but that’s expected of course,
So farewell world and welcome dreams,
Welcome the world that’s more than it seems.