He sits in a corner wanting to write
Frozen and filthy with little light
His hands are trembling, mind is weak
Holding a piece of paper, no voice can't speak
Searching for memoirs, nothing he'll find
All destined away and forever lost in time
Tears fall down, his not able to think
Papers are crumpled, the pen has no ink
His world has ended and nothing left
The dying last words of a poet himself.
Frozen and filthy with little light
His hands are trembling, mind is weak
Holding a piece of paper, no voice can't speak
Searching for memoirs, nothing he'll find
All destined away and forever lost in time
Tears fall down, his not able to think
Papers are crumpled, the pen has no ink
His world has ended and nothing left
The dying last words of a poet himself.
