45

A sad sweet song of bitter ends coming to an end. His chorus sang by himself, no one to sing it for him. Winter surrounds a scene of death with dying breath, a single breath. One more night he begs as he has never begged before. The price to much, a butcher’s bill it is. He lets his hands drop without a fight. The song is done with nowhere to run he accepts what must come. One last chorus to appreciate it all.

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