The Death Of Me
If he were to ever die,
I know, for sure, so would I,
But first I'd see him one more time,
And try my best to say goodbye.
I'd touch his skin, so cold and dead,
And remember when he held me close in bed.
Then I'd kiss his whithered lips and realize,
That he can't kiss me back this time.
He couldn't open his eyes to look at me.
He couldn't reach for me in my time of need.
He could no longer make love to me, so tender and sweet,
Because, in death, his heart does no longer beat.
And this would then be the death of me.