He knew it's not a metter of years
Not monthes,
But weeks or days
Or houres.
It's soon to be his time up there,
And she'll be here,
To cry for him.

He layed on his bed,
Thinking of her,
Tears came up to his eyes-
He really did care.
He used to paint her face,
As a memmorial to her grace,
That now was gone-
Turned to a shade of death.

He layed on his bed and he cried.
He cried on his bed as he died.
And her sweet looking face turned white,
As she heard no sound of is breth.
Her big purple tears came down to the ground
That he was buried benith.
The girl walked home lonely,
And his spirit pest by
As she cried herself to sleep.