the night was bleak, the sky grey the world reach out to the end of days the car pulls slowly up to the gates of the graves a shrouded boy, a rose in hand. fire in his eyes. lit cigarette this quiet procession meets its final steps. at the place of the deceased a blood stained glove. his battered face lacerations running deep from neck to waist a final bow to an old friend who met his end a bloodlust burnt, saddness grew the whole world vanished from me and you here and in the blazing slew burning all he woke in the hospital bed stitched together by the grim who said "it's not your time to be gone and dead. rose in hand.... lest one call to a friendly face. lost a companion in his last haste." he set the rose down on the cold hard grave in a last embrace and drowned in the life he was so hurried to waste