| On the last day of my life
|
| I wonder what I will be like
|
| Will I be blue, held up with glue?
|
| Will I be strong and able?
|
| Will I wake and know right then
|
| My final day had just begun?
|
| I hope you’re there, with bed-made hair
|
| And a body I can cradle
|
| And in that morning we’d take a walk
|
| Through every street and every park
|
| I hope it’s deep, in autumn time
|
| And the leaves are like fires raging
|
| I think I would love the simple things
|
| Like holding hands and noticing
|
| The way the wind moves in-between
|
| And how I never saw you ageing
|
| The afternoon would come so soon
|
| Would there be time for a movie too?
|
| I hope there’s one about true love
|
| About how it hurts sometimes
|
| As it fades to black and the credits roll
|
| I think I’d start to lose control
|
| And all those names flash before my face
|
| Did I thank them all in time?
|
| In early eve, you’d start to grieve
|
| And all your doubts and non-beliefs
|
| Would shatter there
|
| And you’d throw up prayers
|
| To keep me from my curse
|
| But I’d hold you close and you’d pray and pray
|
| Whisper everything was gonna be okay
|
| Our final kiss would bring such bliss
|
| And feel just like our first
|
| On the last night of my life
|
| Think I’d rather be surprised
|
| Now every night when I close my eyes
|
| I hold your hand so tight |