His body full of bruises, oh! No, full of stabs
His white, tight t-shirt, now crimson
His sweet charming bass voice, now a roar
His hairy nostrils, now outlet pipes of blood
Seeing him, not easy to believe, but readily to decline

Said to be overspending, but how?
Said to be drunkenness, but how?
Psychological implications, who knows?
Witchcraft! Ahaa! Who could prove it?
Of course, those are tales to beautify the occasion

Now fighting for his breath,
Struggling to say something
Could it be his last word?
Maybe it could be a seek of help
But capability physically hindered.

The mass' hope is now at the sick house
But it's a half an hour past now
Him laying helplessly, to guess maybe,
His hope for a second chance could be there too
But where are they to provide flesh to this?

Oh! I've recalled something, the mass,
Is waiting for the emergency response team,
But who amongst them
Isn't cognizant of their indolence and negligence?

Maybe they are pleased to carry
A decedent to hospital than the sick
Oh no! But how to the hospital or to the morgue?
But it's their nature and you know it .