The cancer eats your lungs
Tearing up and trimming the brush beside your bed
And now your body’s cold
Settling for sympathy and carrying the weight
But it’s not that simple
I’m not the first of your kind
But I won’t be the last to say you were right and I should have known, but no remorse
I’m a martyr’s son
A northern star, a perfect stone
Ripping out the stains in my clothes
A cavern’s end, the lamps are out
I feel you in the dark and I am found