All I ever think about is Dying,
Whenever I stop thinking anymore,
In one way or another
That's much too far from brave.
The talking tried to keep it quiet,
swallowing it made me still,
but the soul only haunts me
when I can not turn away.
Nobody heard him, the dead man,
But still he lay moaning:
I was much further out than you thought
And not waving but drowning.
Poor chap, he always loved larking
And now he's dead
It must have been too cold for him his heart gave way,
They said.
Oh, no no no, it was too cold always
(Still the dead one lay moaning)
I was much too far out all my life
And not waving but drowning.
~Stevie Smith
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