It was in the winter of my fiftieth year When it hit me I was really alone And there wasn't a hell a lot of time left Every laugh and touch that I could get Became more important Strangely, I became more bookish And my home and study meant more to me As I considered the circumstances of my death I wanted to find a balance between joy and dignity On my way out Above all, I didn't want to take any more shit Not from anybody
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