As Night fades into day,
I sit, pondering all life’s days.
The ones I lived, and before me,
but mostly the ones for when I’m gone.
They will be much like the ones today, with sunlight and shadows,
but I won’t be breathing, living,
This is our tomorrow.
They say that we can’t concieve
a day where we aren’t living,
But I can do it now, plain and simply: I won’t be living.
I can say that without sorrow,
without the agony of mourning.
People pass away, I could tomorrow morning.