And it came to me then, that every plan, is a tiny grant of father time. As I stared in my shoes, in the ICU, that reeked of piss and 409. And I rationed my breaths, as I said to myself, that I'd already taken too much today. As each descending peak, on the LCD, took you a little farther away from me, away from me. Amongst the vending machines, in your old magazines, in a place where we only say goodbye. It stung like a violent wind, that our memories depend, on a faulty camera in our minds. And I knew that you were true, I would rather lose, than to have never lain beside at all. And I looked around at all the eyes on the ground, as the TV entertained itself. Cause there's no comfort in the waiting room. Just nervous spaces, bracing for bad news. And then the nurse comes round, and everyone lifts their heads. But I'm thinking of what Sarah said. That love is watching someone die. So who's gonna watch you die? So who's gonna watch you die? So who's gonna watch you die? So who's gonna watch you die? So who's gonna watch you die? So who's gonna watch you die? So who's gonna watch you die? So who's gonna watch you die? So who's gonna watch you die?