It was in the winter of my fiftieth year

When it hit me

I was really alone

And there wasn't a hell a lot of time left

Every laugh and touch that I could get

Became more important

Strangely, I became more bookish

And my home and study meant more to me

As I considered the circumstances of my death

I wanted to find a balance between joy and dignity

On my way out

Above all, I didn't want to take any more shit

Not from anybody