Last Gift

Dance upon the embers
of things that we once shared.
Smear my face with sacred blood
braid ashes in my hair.
My feet might start to blister
but my mind just doesn't care.

Gave away my journals,
the art prints and my name.
Ran off all our old friends
who wouldn't play my game.
Guess I'm getting through this
and I hope you'll do the same.

Once you said “forever”
and I listened with my hopes.
Coming off the road, you know,
was coming off the ropes.
Words like trust and honesty
were written just for dopes.

Like the emerald of the jungle
I saw there in your eyes,
my jealousy was too late
when I finally found your lies.
Your gift was always medicine;
care to tell me how love dies?

So I sit here with my bad dreams,
my whiskey and my gun.
Drain the bottle, clean the rifle
and think of times to come.
When I offer you my last gift
will you want to stand or run?

There's no certainty in living
but a certain peace in death
when a man lays down his burdens
and takes in his last breath.
Think it's time for one last dance, dear,
with these bullets and this meth.