Dementia
Blood is on my hands
I'm a man without plans
Sorrow fills my eyes
My mother cries as I die
The heavens grants me lessons
Still evil is a terrible weapon
Sorrow is a fragrance
For passion to remain patient
There’s a funeral in my brain
It’s a numerical for pain
Its causes my course of action
Ironically it’s a source of sanction
So I write my final letter
Agony is a virtual weather
That rains on our lives
And its pain for our times
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