Sick

An illness is vicious

Any can be frightful from pneumonia to cancer

It’ll make all of your loved ones suspicious

Now the worst isn’t the goodbying

Losing your roar as your fire burns out is

Or never being able to kiss your beautiful wife once you’re dying

 

Smoking your last cigarette

Your lungs fill with smoke and doubt

Your chances of living are to those of Russian roulette

As the storm ends tomorrow

Your pride with wither

As your body fills with sorrow