I sit by the window.
I read in the den.
I tend to the garden
And I sit back down again.
Last month, my health failed me.
My powers of speech have left my self.
But I'm well-versed in ancient literature
And I collect it on my shelf.
How long a time it's been
Since my friends have come to call.
But I see them in their pictures
Which still decorate my hall.
My head has grown heavy.
Thoughts have filled it to the brim.
My body's drifting in my living room.
And the daylight's getting dim.

When I looked at those headlights
And they looked right back at me,
How the bloodveins in my head swelled
And then violently released.
I still feel the cold asphalt
And the rush of pouring rain.
I still hear my doctors wonder
How these memories remained.
I know that happiness is the highest good
Towards which proper action strives
And though my actions have been hindered,
I should be happy I survived.
With my memories, I'm surrounded
And when evening comes, they call
But if I could speak my mind I'd shout it
At these pictures on my wall.