I shall drink Socrates' wine of death,
just to bid and kiss all our days goodbye.
Like a sacrilege, but I feel no remorse,
As my soul falls from the angry skies.
But everything in this life’s voiceless and gone,
we're a hapless victim of the indifference in man.
Quiet moments and there were blissful songs,
but this is not, I know, the home that I long.
I am sick, unto death, so I leave defeated,
hear ye, a requiem to a life that no one knew.