The Last Ride

And then it starts: You cough, you wake up at midnight; You cough hard. Death has been thinking about you: And now you know him, too. You smell the hospital smell: You drift back in. He was patiently waiting: Waiting to unwind your DNA and rudely shove it into the ground. That's his job: You knew that; You just didn't like it: You pretended. Now He's here: Knocking. (You cough hard again) (Tears run down from your new-found knowledge) He's always been stalking you: When you got sick, When you got depressed, When you got nothing, You knew. You ignored him. (Now that cough hurt!) (He's coming: He's sitting on your bed) You recall the Good Times list, the Bad Times list: You add Right Now to that list. A few friends hang around: You add that part of Right Now to the Good Times list. You smell his bad breath: It smells like a burning match, From when you last smoked a Lucky. (You should have heeded the warnings) (I'm not feeling a bit lucky, you smirk). From the moment you were born, You began to die, So what's your big deal, bud? "Wait," you think! "I have too many un-accomplished things" You have a list of them, too. But you finally know that it is a null-list... as you cough up a horrible bloody clump. A guy in black with a white collar mutters quietly in Latin (?) (He's very sincere, you think). The doctor turns away and says something about the time, and then writes something on your chart. Your final few companions are weeping. But it's over for you: And the guy with the sulfur-breath Extends his claws and takes you for your last ride.