He's going to die, he feels
A painful smile each day his life slips away
His mind is of dismay; losing sense of reality
He finger paints a picture of himself in hair dye
The hair he has not, but die he may ...
He will take himself to play
Maybe he'll just take a trip, a vacation of sorts
By bus or by plane to the sunny land with a golden wave
He can rest and talk to the beautiful animals
Play with innocent children; like a young boy again
No medicines to help or ill him
The boy can grow some hair, while the sickness grows sicker
Enter the golden land in painful serenity
To see the after world clearer as the present lights flicker
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