It was a lullaby

It was a lullaby you sang to me in Rome,
And as I now sit alone,
In my yellow room of melancholy,
I contemplate my folly,
And I swear I'll never do that again.

I hum what I recall: just the refrain,
My ethereal lies hung dying in the air,
Woven as a wall to stop your care,
But still you sang, more precious that the light,
And I swear you kept away the night.

Oh Magdalene, sweet jezebel,
For a moment you broached the walls of hell,
And showed me a path to another life.
I turned away and took the knife,
The needle, and an oath:

"To mine own self be true,"
Which is something I could never do.
It was a lullaby you sang to me in Rome,
And though I've learned I love you,
I'm never coming home.

The first pinpick of blood drops on to the paper in front of me; it is old and yellowed, creased into squares that won't iron out.  It's been with me for thirty years, and it's been too long.

Too many memories, too many regrets.

Another drop of blood falls, and I push the paper away to preserve it.  It's not much to remember me by, but I've not left anything else.

As the blood drips faster and becomes a trickle and then a stream, I push the blackness away and whistle the refrain, over and over again.

The End

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