Site Title

                                                                                                                      for myself
Slowly I'm giving up my ghost.
I've survived famines, wars, but this, 
This my friends is much worse!
The waiting rooms, fellow citizens,
White walls, barred windows, 
And that itchy stench, 
Or should I say: smell of pills 
whose side effects we all know
Yet swallow them unhesitatingly; 
Why's that? I wish I knew more.
I wish someone told me
What I should do; but I can't complain, 
I'm paddling through.
Though I must say I move only
When I have to go to the loo, 
And then, too, I have to lean 
On someone's helping shoulder. 
But, you see, years are becoming 
More and more lean and there is less 
And less light available in here;
And also in my fellow citizens' eyes.
My hands tremble, my eyes 
Leave me in the dark;
I'm more and more alone.
Friends are dropping off like 
Some dead flies at Yuletide: 
Here they are, next they're gone.
But that's life, I'm told. 
That's life.