She’s been busy
About ready to die
Getting her life down on paper
Saying her goodbyes

Does she think about her mother
the way her mother died young?
Is she hungry
to see her again?

She’s lost her fire
Where has it gone?
Will it make an appearance
as her swan song?

Will this be her last sunset?
Her last evening star?
Is it too late
for a last-minute prayer?

She hears it coming
like a flock of blackbirds
She can hear the rhythm
But can’t make out the words