With paralyzed limbs, he lies
Covered with today’s mess,
Sleep evades him, spiting heavy eyes
Still tossing and turning at tomorrow’s stress
All upon the blood-stained sheets
Should you cast an eye upon his face,
And see him in this withered state,
Covered in bile and waste,
With familiar shame, he relishes in his fate
And disappears under the blood-stained sheets
Oh! What a poor fellow,
Crying under this cover,
Poor man, do you know the world can still see you below?
Do you know, standing near, they all wonder
If they should lift the blood-stained sheets?
Who knows the origin of the sheet's gorey design?
Perhaps it is his, perhaps it is mine, Perhaps the whole world bleeds upon those sheets
One day, we will witness his fatal fall
From the sheet, we’ll see him tie his noose
Hanging, he’ll scream of our abuse
And I know not if it is you, him, or I at fault
Yet, there must be some blame on the blood-stained sheets
But now, let’s leave him to his will
Leave him to rest and live and love and cry
Let him choose to avoid us still
Let’s leave him to die
Under the blood-stained sheets
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