He lived his life and he wasted away.
Holding bitterly onto the mundane.
A pockmarked soul disgraced his fetid brain.
An ash-filled urn slowly drove him insane.
He stifled his voice for a rainy day.

When the time arrived, the sunset of life.
He greeted God coldly. He asked for his wife.
A panic struck his bones, his knees buckled
A single tear shed down that silver beard.
For he realized, he was weary, grey, and alone.