She became her mother
who'd throw a monkey wrench...

He knew what was happening
seen it once before. 'His old man...

How you come to see me when I die,
dressed in rags or sables...

It came to me
while I slept...

I eat from an approve food list,
weight myself each morning...

She yells up to me.
She's leaving for work...

Aunt Sis,
who I think really was my mother...

They meet for coffee
once a month on the fifteenth...

Death is on its way.
I wait riddled with pain...

Up before the birds, before
the news paper boy gets to throw...

She stays by me, and I admit
I talk to her...

I'm sure he welcomed death when it came.
Knowing what was going on in his life...