Sing a song of six pence
A pocket full of rhyme
Hope for the dilusional
But running out of time
Sitting round the death bed
Seeing what's left now
Hoping for the bitter cup
You gently take a bow
Quick to start a fight within
You yell and curse and cry
But that will get you no where
It's better just to die
So raise your glass and tilt it back
For what is honor now?
You need to find it deep within
But you honestly don't know how
So sitting by your death bed
You draw life to it's final close
Is your honor in you dying?
Don't ask because no one knows.
No comments:
Post a Comment