It's in the here and that's how,
now I come to think of it, these words
that I scribble on ribbons of tissue which
are torn from my breast are
the living of me,
living within me and sometimes
in hard times they're
the only living I get.

Set in my ways now until the end of my days,
how I hope this pen lasts until the last
candle's done,
until the last rays of the Sun
bow to kiss me
goodbye.