sick friend laying there in bed,
sick friend laying there,
almost dead.
crying,
dying,
almost spent.
lover, friend,
with cure in hand,
why can not you
hand it over,
and save this life
of one you love,
and not wipe my brow
with nightshade glove,
It is killing me,
I'm sure you see,
and yet
you wipe away.
This love will end one day,
as you choke with all your might,
the life from it,
unless, this temptation,
you can overcome it.
