Sunday, October 09, 2005

Oh my God I'm dying!

Oh, my God I'm dying,
I can feel it in my bones.
My skin is like a gator's.
My eyes see only gloom.
My memory has wasted.
The future's come too soon.

Oh, my God, I'm dying, am I the only one?
And why are you smiling, when you know I'm
Nearly done.

Oh, my God, I'm dying.
This is not what I call fair.
I am hard of hearing and my lungs are reft of air.
Good Lord, it hurts to think of the end as being near.
Just when I was winning; now I'm taking it
up the rear.

Oh, my God, I'm dying.
What was your name again?
Was it Fred or John, or Harry?
Fuck you, be a little patient, I'm forgetful
now and then.

Good Christ, it is surprising how the time rolling.
That ringing in my ears says it is I 'for whom the bells are tolling.'

O Lordy, Lordy, and Lordy my legs are feeling weak.
And though my lips are moving,
I have forgotten how to speak.

My knees are sore, my back hurts so, and my hair is falling out.
I can't walk up a flight of stairs without a heavy wheeze.
No wonder it is said that life's
"a sexually transmitted disease."

Oh, my God it's true, yet what can this mortal do?
In just a little while, seems I'll be meeting you.
This bothers me a lot,
for until this sickened moment,
I'm sure you existed not.

Death is no big deal, nor should it be construed
that once the reaper reaps you, you'll change your altitude.
For heaven is a mystery and hell's no less a fact;
my feet, in life or death, shall never leave this tract.

We find ourselves one day, born and so alive.
In youth we grow and learn; for mortality we strive.
Then the fog is lifted, our eyes are opened wide.
Life forever, soon we find, is what we are denied.

Why should we give a damn at all about a fate so sure?
It's not as though eternity was built for you and I.
Or that death is like a common cold for ,which there is no cure?
Oh my God I'm dying, my brain has grown defective.
After years of running and round I'll no longer be erective.
I'm dying. I'm dying. Shit, it really stings.
My ass is totally fractured, and my arms are both in slings.
These feet were made for walking, now they're just statutory things.
The violins are playing, listen hear the strings.
And buddy, I'll be damned if that ain't the Fat Lady;
you know, the one that sings.

Bugger me it's been a long death.
It all began when I was born.
Slowly, bit-by-bit, from this life I'm torn.
Yikes, and cripes and blimey.
Holy Moses too,I go about my death,
`cause there's nothing else to do.

No doubt I'm that far gone, the condition is quite serium.
My head's a little light. It may just be delirium,
congenital or denital, cancer or the pox,
heart disease or just weak knees?
Or pneumonia from wet socks?
It could be aids or rabies or just malicious scabies?
One thing's for sure I'll not endure as long as newborn babies.
Don't grieve for me Argentina, or anyone at all.
For I'll not grieve for you.
Death is our common denominator and,
you know as well as I that iff you escape the long sleep now,
your passing will come later.
Oh yeah, baby, I'm dying, and enjoying every second.
For the exclusivity of this oblivion is mine,
that to which I'm beckoned.
For Perseus Adams. circa 2002.