The cold whirled into the room,

The breeze freezing the poor mans toes.

A sigh rattles in his chest,

His fingers strum the strings of his guitar.

Alone and Forgotten,

Death probably approaches,

His fingers strum the strings of his guitar.

A hum moves out of his dry lips,

His pale skin shines in the moonlight.

No more hope,

His fingers strum the strings to his guitar.