Perhaps we don't deserve them anymore--
An inartistic age will bring collapse
That spreads as death upon the island shore
Of greatness, lost big beat without relapse.
How can't I grieve--how can't those waves wash high,
Erode my soul and yet rebuild my soul
With every death--how can I now deny
No time is guaranteed to reach your goal.
The sea of time's eroded far too long,
Too much--two times my life is what I need
To do all I must do--I must be strong
And let these deaths become my vital seed.
It's early when an artist has to leave:
They help us see ourselves--that's why we grieve.