Sitting in the waiting room once more(This time unaccompanied by a guard),Poet dwells on moments right before,Wondering how his skull could be so hard. 
'She counted on you, Mr. Troubador. She gave you all the pleasures you desired, And when she couldn't do it anymore,You complained? No wonder you were fired.'
Obviously his thoughts are unfair,But that does not require they be wrong. '____ loves you, and she needs you there,Though her sickness screams a different song.
If this is not how you would see things end,Get the hell in there and be her friend.'
 ----
- Jack