At 2.36, I get chills down my spine.
It happens without fail, every time.
Heaving lads, dripped in sweat too.
One more curtain to face, a final cue.

Smiling, though smiling can be fake.
A chance now to see my final take.
It gets no finer, my audience to seek.
So remember me like this, at my peak.

It's over now, move on from the past.
A great man fell from a bullet blast.
Heave no longer as the curtain falls.
As my last lines echo, in silenced halls.