When time runs out and your hear needs to say so much more
But the heart that should hear it is gone now forever
And you are left with a naw nagging sore

Then reach for your paper, your pen and your candle
And write through your heart it would burst
No fears now restrain you; no judgement; no mock;
Write of your best, of your worst

When your soul is drained of its deepest regret
The hold your true paper to the candle's clear flame
That thought-laden skin might reach to that heart
And ashes, a symbol of love, yet remain