The old man lies prone All alone In bed Waiting to breathe his last breath
He's made his peace Or so It seems His body began to protest
One part chose not to depart this world Yet
Death in his sights Living for spite Poor magic bone Will go on and on His finger will not let him die
Day after day Tapping away Skin like a burlap sack Hoping to fade to black Driven by an unworldly lust Magic bone feeds on his dust
Replaying his life In his mind He tries to see how he made the knuckle crack
No reason, no rhyme No deed No crime to warrant the finger's attack
One part chose not to depart this world Yet
Death in his eyes Living for spite That magic bone won't let him go His finger will not let him die
Lying in wait Robbed of his fate Stuck for eternity Pointing round aimlessly Wanting to be six feet deep The magic bone won't let him sleep
Let him sleep
Frozen awake In time and space No-one can hear his appeal For when he attempts To speak His mind The finger presses up to his lips
Year after year Can't disappear Impossibly bored Nail like a sword No chance of suicide Not while it lives inside Trying to fight the magic joint Knowing that there is no point Is no point is no point, is no point, is
