It was in the winter of my fiftieth year
When it hit me
I was really alone
And there wasnt a hell a lot of time left
Every laugh and touch that I could get
Became more important
Strangely, I became more bookish
And my home and study meant more to me
As I considered the circumstances of my death
I wanted to find a balance between joy and dignity
On my way out
Above all, I didnt want to take any more shit
Not from anybody
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