O wild, lonely man, you made a friend
with Death, and Death will always have his way.
He's never one to listen or to lend
a hand without a hidden card to play.
Death gambles with all life, and yours no less,
and yet you bare your teeth at his command:
a scare, if shown, but played close to the chest?
A shark could hide an upset in his hand.
He does quite well to keep you up his sleeve,
a vicious trump, and foolish men will find
there are more ways to bleed than one; you leave
the field that they thought steady, undermined.
You're dangerous and wild and I bet
that Death's reraising isn't finished yet.