Conscience
UNFINISHED TALE
D. Harvey - H. Archambault


The moon slips to red
As his blood flows
Deep in a gully he waits
Til death comes
Through his soul

Then a flash of images
Pieces of his existence
By a hot summer night
A short review of his life

Stupid accident, brutal accident
Even though he likes life
He was drunk
He should have taken a walk

He would like to escape
To reach those people
With whom he could die in peace
But he's prisoner and his blood flows out

Suddenly, he doesn't think anymore
The pain is gone forever
Just a bad taste of blood in his throat
A long expiration and then
Nothing else

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