She sings a lullaby to him,
Though he's in pain and cannot win.
He lies in bed, waiting for death,
The only thing left, is to rest.
But she will wait until it's done,
Singing to her number one.
You are the ink that fuels my pen,
Demanding always, just another line,
And when I've written yet another ten,
You ask for more, and I cannot deny.
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