My hands beat against the glass,
For every breath I let pass,
You draw ever closer to your last.

Shall it be with some great blast?
Or will it be a somber gasp?
Or will it end with a shaky rasp?

My hands beat against the glass,
For all my effort I cannot surpass,
The falling of your mast.

Shall I be able to clasp
Your gentle hand and hasp
Your life to this great mass?

My hands beat against the glass,
As I watch your end come to pass,
May your laugh forever last.