The old man lies prone
All alone
In bed
Waiting to breathe his last breath

He's made his peace
Or so
It seems
His body began to protest

One part chose not to depart this world
Yet

Death in his sights
Living for spite
Poor magic bone
Will go on and on
His finger will not let him die

Day after day
Tapping away
Skin like a burlap sack
Hoping to fade to black
Driven by an unworldly lust
Magic bone feeds on his dust

Replaying his life
In his mind
He tries to see how he made the knuckle crack

No reason, no rhyme
No deed
No crime to warrant the finger's attack

One part chose not to depart this world
Yet

Death in his eyes
Living for spite
That magic bone won't let him go
His finger will not let him die

Lying in wait
Robbed of his fate
Stuck for eternity
Pointing round aimlessly
Wanting to be six feet deep
The magic bone won't let him sleep

Let him sleep

Frozen awake
In time and space
No-one can hear his appeal
For when he attempts
To speak
His mind
The finger presses up to his lips

Year after year
Can't disappear
Impossibly bored
Nail like a sword
No chance of suicide
Not while it lives inside
Trying to fight the magic joint
Knowing that there is no point
Is no point is no point, is no point, is