The Passage

Grille de la piste #278839

Fournie par Grathy

Lyrics:

© Grathy
He’s tethered to machines,
That weave through his body
Like hungry snakes.

It’s medicine’s way
Of keeping him imprisoned,
As they chart his incremental progress
And keep a running tab.

Still,
His mind waivers
In and out of consciousness,
Like moody clouds
On a stormy day,

When will nature have its way
And pull him
Up into the great beyond,

His tired body left behind
Like a pile of trash
Soon to be discarded
With the rest of what remains.