Oh, a time will come when they’ll want to claim me as their own.
When I have put down my pen and laid to rest all I’ve ever known.
They will fight, quarrel and beg, casting lots for my words.
They will demand and bicker, but listen not to the heard.
They like to take ownership of things not really theirs.
Humbleness they won’t put on instead only airs.
Once, they liked to see me sunken, stricken by the cost.
But now like some hero they’ll stand me, forgetting all I’ve lost.
I will not go into the great charade, I will not prance around,
for those who once tried to trod me into the very ground.
Like nature, I don’t forget a thing that you’ve done.
Like a mother who remembers what you said to her son.
I am like a whisper, a flash that streaks across the storm.
By the time I’m through, they’ll wish, no pray, that I wasn’t born.
You cannot hope to catch me, though you want me bottled up.
For I am the silver elixir dripping from this very cup.
Did you want to see my dying? Grasping for the last drop?
Even when I’m dead I hope you know, my words will never stop.
My words will never stop.