La (it's quite alright)

agonizing man (his lips are sealed)
but his eyes reveals he’s being thinking about it
for sometime now
it may be cold outside for the rest of us
but it’s so warm inside of him
to the point of (almost) envy.

talk to me, Don,
talk to me for we to stop thinking about it,
did you left any woman, did you left any children.
“well”, he started, “i have a nice little house,
a nice little bed, and a bunch little books in the shelf,
never though meself much of a reader, well,
but that’s what i think now, i always was”
now, that’s fine. it’s been great, isn’t it?
“it’s quite alright. if i can please ask something of you-”
that’s absolutely fine, go on, please -
“i would like to be buried with my dog, he’s…
he’s in the garden, next to the tulips.”
i see. you can bet my friend, you can be certain:
you will rest next to your dog,
and i will make sure there’s some tulips around the two of you.
“i can not thank you enough. well, aren’t you a nice man after all”
you take care, my friend. you take care where you’re going.

his pale blue eyes face the sun,
for they cannot face anything anymore but the skies,
his coat opened, the firsts closed wire shut
like there’s some brawl-battle just waiting for him
-there’s not. there will be not, it’s over now.

i am a — i am a man of the church, you see..
do you mind if i… if a say a little prayer? for you soul?
“for me soul?”
the man laughs, but it sounds like a coff.
“never though of meself as a prayer…
can you not do that? please?”

for some reason
i though at this moment
in a fair trade
and to be nice at him
so he could be nice to me.
here’s a cigar,
and you can’t really smoke here,
heh,
but here’s a cigar anyway.
have it, and i could pray for you,
in exchange?

Don, with his blue eyes now burning red
the tears desperately wanting to escape
lips opened trying to talk
his mouth wanting to laugh and to talk
and to kiss and to sing and to cry
and to say all the words in the world
lips closed now with a opening just for one
last
cigar.

O Holy Jesus, O almighty,
I now, I, i…

(Don is gone.)

I…

may this man find peace in death, that he was unable to find in life,
and this humble servant ask you to be merciful on his soul,
but i respect your judgment nevertheless.

…

if there’s a holy heaven
and if there’s a wicked hell
Don is certainly a man who will burn.
but i confess you this,
and please never let this close to the ears of the town,
in death, i forgive him for what he have done.
and i tell you more,
it’s hard not to do so when you’re so close to man in his deathbed.

may you live well, and try to live happy, and to live free,
as i now do,
in memory of my friend Don,
who i had every reason to hate,
but now that he’s gone,
it’s quite alright.