I’m writing you this from the last days…
The last days I will; the last days I might;
I’m sending you this from the past rays,
Of a sun slowly setting, if not out of sight.

I’m telling you this in the old ways;
The old ways I used to, when we were alive;
I’m struggling to tell you, as always,
That most things worth having turn out to be lies.

I’m trusting you’ll decipher my message,
From a farmer of fortunes, a doctor of dreams;
I’m rustling and bustling to presage,
How an unholy reaper is not what he seems.

I’m writing you this as a star-gaze,
Of a united clan, a unicorn in flight;
I’m sending you this through a strange haze,
My unbridled élan, my celestial kite.

I’m telling you this so you realise,
As the years turn to yeast and the turtles whiz by;
I’m struggling to tell you, as always,
That behind the disguise lies a lovable guy.