Would I take back a careless word,
Let loose to a gypsy wind?
Damn the poetry; yes I would
With every secret held under my skin.
The skin that’s breathing its life away,
Like an automated clock that sings-
My Life has been a disappointing one.
It’s too late to address such things.
So I’ll shut my trap while sentimental fools
Prepare to weep over my grave-
And dress awhile for Him in Black,
(Now, now, my Heart, behave!)
A road ends, another begins,
So mark my words on a sheet-
And repeat them, when you too
Shall journey forth to Hereafter Street.