It's so cold here, is this what it's like,

to know I'm done and through, imminent end in sight?

~

I can't see, feeling this tingle in my fingertips,

Is this what it's like, to lose my grip?

~

A light is all I can find, where the cavity is my chest,

It speaks to me, what sound of trumpets is this?

~

I have love, even though I am solitudinous,

A father not by blood, but dirt and sess,

~

Explanations of my creation and cremation with same-substance, being loved unconditionaly,

My God no one would believe it, if not only here,

~

If he is really here, by my pectorial's symmetrical side,

I had no idea untill now, that when you come home; even God will cry.