I was nervous as a child though now I’m not.
I used to dream. I used to dream a lot.
I don’t dream now. My dreaming days are done.

So I’m sitting in the room that is my life.
In the shadows are my children and my wife.
At the window is a person with a gun,

And he’s writing with his finger in the dust.
I have no desire to meet him, but I must.
I can’t pretend it hasn’t all been fun,

Or most of it, or some of it at least,
But this must be the time to call the priest.
I think my earthly race is almost run,

And God alone knows what it’s been about.
There are candles burning down and going out,
One by one by one by one by one by one.

—John Whitworth