Two days before he died

In Manchester, at night, in the rain

I shared a cigarette with my brother Pete,

We talked of nothing much,

I knew I loved him, 

But not so much.

 

Death, he said to me, isn't anything,.

Nothing more than

A bird-song when you listen

Real close

Falls silent.

Or a sunset in the sky

fading to blue,

Or when you see.

anything that’s

clear and full and high

and free.

 

I didn't believe a word he said

But O! I wished

I did..