He sat still and watched the twilight
And he let his pipe grow cold
Like his humble living quarters
All his furniture he sold
And he heard the children laughing
And it pierced his heart to hear them
With their spirits hanging high
So he crept downstairs into his bed
He closed his eyes and wiped those tears
And arranged his crooked tie
It’s a perfect night to die
On his nightstand is a portrait
It’s faded into grey
But he remembers it only too well
It was a beautiful blue day
And his wife was there beside him
Back when life’s routine had reason
And Mary was still four
Where is she now, what is she doing
And his dog has bowl of water
And a piece of Monday’s pie
It’s a perfect night to die
And the streetlamp’s softly glowing
On the warmest night in June
He’s lived long enough to realize
Nothin’ll ever change his tune
And his wrinkled eyes are weary
And he hopes to gain contentment
Money can’t afford to buy
And he’s locked his door for no good reason
And his heart will cease from beating
He gives one last lonely sigh
It’s a perfect night to die
8 October 2009 at 12:15
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