Voices Rant On...

And with each dying day
I tread along
I see your hand stretched out
trying to save me from myself
I emanate the stench of death
As it grasps my legs
And pulls me in
I stretch out my hand
To Reach yours
It's too distant I say
You bend closer
Trying your best
I get a hold
You shout hold on tight
I'll pull you out
I'll save you
my hold no stronger
Than a hoar's aging cunt
I slip....
And as I sink into deaths grasp
I smile...
Cause I'll wait...wait for my love to die...

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