With the very last ounce of strength
its tiny, broken body brings,
it takes one final shot at life,
and slowly, once more, ***** its wings.

I'm a man but also a boy.
I'm mature but childish.
I'm stupid while being quick witted, a fat man with the confidence of one perfectly fitted.
The rebel fronting as a prep.
The smile covering the fear of death.
The frown covering the happiness of life while my shadow can eclipse the universe of all light.

I'm free now but more trapped than ever.
It's ended, gone and over.
My heart is crushed, beaten and slower.
Four years of hard work commitment and pain, my skin showing those scars to show my shame.

I'm a liar, a badman, I'm to blame.
I try to much or to little its never the same.
How can I ignore them when every year I have to write, speak, and hear their name.
I will never understand how our strength turned me lame forcing me to learn that the fight of my life was a game with nothing to gain.

I'm a man....but sometimes I feel like nothing.
Shattered dreams of feeling love and a part of something.
How do you go from the loves of each others lives to feeling nothing but sadness and resent inside.

I'm a loveless romantic.
All the tricks I know love I can show but all I ever get is we are done and you can go.

I feel so used.
My soul is abused.
I knew everything when I was with her... now I'm scared and confused.

I'm the one who was trying to make it work.
I'm the one who is shedding tears and being hurt.
How come I'm the one who feels cursed?
Always came second never came first.
Maybe this is the time I'm giving up the search.

Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, my father, there on that sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And then she said
It's time for bed
As up the stair she led me

And as time flew
I knew it true
'Twas fate that she should bed me

That bright young girl
With skirts that twirl
Was never meant to parry

And on that day
It's fair to say
I knew that we would marry

Cyrus was a butcher,
the ladies thought him sweet,
and when they spoke,
the gals would joke
about old Cyrus' meat.

But soon the missus told 'em,
her one and only beef-
forget the size
or how he'd rise,
Old Cyrus was too brief.

His brother, Clive, the baker,
a young and heavy lad,
was paid no mind
by womankind
cause of the weight he had.

But soon the missus told 'em,
with a twinkle in her eye,
Forget the size,
or how he'd rise,
that boy could eat a pie!