I imagine that every generation experiences death in their own way.
In our old age, when that stop is more than ever certain,
I imagine every generation leaving behind a legacy
And giving scope to life in how they feel their last days.
As Grandpa was dying, I imagined the kind of mind
A man born in the fifties would carry while he survived,
And the sum of all experiences before he met the end,
How they measured up to what he saw and all the things he’d been.
A man who worked machines, watched tv, and prayed
Died hooked to a machine, with the television on, praying.
The same shows he always saw were the last ones he watched,
And the cigarette in his fingers was the last thing he touched.
Will I die surrounded by the things I see today?
Will I understand the world as I do now, the same way?
When my generation finally slips into the grave,
I wonder what the others will think of how we passed away..