Supernova

By Greg Scaffidi

Many years ago,

There lived a man whose eyes were dim

He watched the years grow.

With pockets empty, he was grim.

Though a man who was wise,

He was still a poor old bum.

He had no friends who kept close ties,

To spread the word of what's to come.

He knows he cannot win.

He must confront his hated fears.

It will draw near because we sin.

Within the coming years

Even with all of his grief

He still looked to the sky

He'd see the empty thief

Then he'd watch a star die

Emptier the sky would seem,

When a star had lost its gleam.

And the next to fall into death's hole

Will be the star which we call Sol.