He puts poison in his vein,
And I know he won't refrain,
Even if I beg or plead with all my heart.
I want to take him in my arms,
Soothe him better - use my charms,
but he's too old now to sit on mammy's knee.
He has begged and he has pleaded,
For the money he has needed,
Which, sad to say, I've often given in the end.
And if through me he ends his life,
I might as well have used a knife,
T'would have been a kinder gift from me.
So via his hallucinations,
And my futile frustrations,
His end is not so much an 'if' but more a 'when'.