He sits and weaves impossibilities
Memories of passions that could never be.
Conquests of gals that didn't even know
He'd come, he'd seen and taken his last bow.
Wrong moves he made that now must be repaid
By waves of winces, guilt that can not fade.
In a lifetime of poorly picked comforts,
Of miscast malice and wasted efforts
He now moans and foams into the black void
That no man who ever breathed could avoid.
Belittled by riddles he never asked
He peers into fearful dark that looms, aghast
At the howl of time racing ever more fast
As days rush by counting down to his last
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