I’m sorry I didn’t call you any sooner
Eight days have passed
And it makes a year at least
When they give you less than a few months

I’ve been busy
I’ve been not too well myself

You’ve had a bad night, you say
But did you have a good life ?

I did not know your mother left you an orphan so prematurely
I thought I heard you mention her presence later on your timeline
« I have no one, you understand », you said in that cool cat’s tone
To the female oncologist who follows you at the hospital
She shows empathy, complicity,
She has that little extra time in humanity

Of course she tried again to push the idea of a treatment
Now that you know the nature of your murderer :
A small cell lung cancer
But you already sensed it.
And somehow it suits you better
You don’t want the chemo
There’s not enough in your life
To make you wanna fight for a little more
And you won’t have much more
Might be too late for a short trip,
Is it too late for friendship ?
Some sort of relation
That won’t make you feel under assistance

You wouldn’t call me, would you ?
I have to guess when you need help
It’s like for most of our relationships :
We have to guess, not just to hear, ask,
And it can’t be a lousy job

I’m surrounded by a bunch of « no-hopers »,
You said also to your doctor
« Which is of no surprise, because I’m one as well »
Then in a charming line, you added to me :
« Oh but you, you’re worth better than this »

Oh no, just a piece of mess
Under a brighter exposure
And I’m sorry that it’s all you’ve got,
Without any self-depreciation :
Bar workers, unsung loners,
Underground musicians,
Real drunks and wannabe poets
Random misfits…

But hey, I’ll do my best
If this is what is left