Son I'm Gonna Die Someday
I am proud at your stride
though stubby like your mother's
and how slight your talent
at the ebony and ivory,
but mine too, don't worry.
I am proud of you, by God,
and don't you worry.
Son of mine,
Don't you worry at it.
Don't you worry at it
nary a none, dear son.
I am the knighted-now and the renowned
but once -- boy wonder of us elders' yore.
But son, I want the better for you
than your wiser me has had, want that
you work hard
that your father's lore
be buried never.
I have known renown.
I have been spun around and about myself
and my Lord the biceps on that Fortuna broad!
I tell you what, by God,
Fortuna does her share of heavy lifting.
I hear her wheel outweighs the sun,
the moon, the world's sum total
with the soul as your unit.
I said, Hell yeah son
by God I tell you
what.
There is no best, no might,
no always, no never never,
but you never know
is what I will tell you, whisper it so,
on that day I sleep for good.
I hope that good night
is of nary a cirrus,
of harry a stratus,
yet rains me thither into yon,
and son I ain't afraid not a smidge
to go gentle in it.
Gentle when I do.
(That's why your Mama wouldn't
let me name you Thomas.)
Son of mine who's always going somewhere,
you will say a sweet take care to the breathing me,
you will think that your farewell is for the will-leave.
True farewells, my boy, are for the left-already.
Son, I'm lookin' forward to all them
pastel-colored what dreams may come.
I think heaven's probably nice in summer,
but I bet God's butt cheeks hell pays rent kickin' butt.
Hell yeah son by God I tell you what.
By God, son, there ain't nothin' to fear.
Before I go gently, I reckon the about-to
Is all you'll ever need to hear.
I have spent my days, my life entire
honing up this soul of mine so shoddy
for the moment when the soul escapes the body.
