Comforting words too often strike
too late, an ear contrite

A kind word makes the spirit soar
above the threshold of death's front door

Such a word I have not heard
my spirit drifts slowly downward

Let me touch before you go
so for awhile, I may know

Save for me a whisper sweet
save for me, my soul complete

In the end there is much debate
but in the end, it's far too late

Better to die with your hand in mine
than to live alone in my time