The last dying wish of tormented souls,
to whom life's great struggle, is drawing to a close.
Like the final cutain, on the closing act,
or the swift, silent falling, of the hooded man's axe.
Is to wonder so freely amongst the billowing clouds,
or to cloak their loving family in a large protective shroud.
Or maybe to drift abandoned, over clear oceans and seas,
never meeting land, nor beach, nor tall green trees.
To sit with lost ones, that they once loved so dear,
who've long since gone a wandering, yet have stayed so near.
For the tormented human soul, hides it's many deapths,
most taken with them, to their own tormented death.
And we'll never know, for they'll never disclose.
The last dying wish, of tormented souls.