We have something here with the heart,
its beat, living, crying like the child
with too many wounds below its belly.
Now there is no Lord above,
because midnight stuck two hours before,
and here lies death, death, nevermore.
Your life has ended, and blackness struck,
dividing your soul to two halves,
one for here, and one for somewhere.
All you know is something of dream,
and mistakes made are so far away,
nothing but slumber folding in.
"When will I awake?" said son to father.
The Old Man looked up from his readings,
and said, "if you die before you wake,
your life will forever be mine to take."