‘Low Fire'

Now I'm pulling myself across the floor
I'm breaking nails, scraping at the door
My head is aching and I'm clutching at straws

I can't quite envisage what I have lived for
And I need so much, before I finally fall,
To prove that I was ever here at all

Now I'm dragging my carcass along the ground
I'm wasting away, vainly attempting to surmount
An existence that is latent, a fact I can't get my head round

So the culmination of decades of doubt
Is that I can't even accumulate the clout
To scratch a trace in the sand before my fire burns out.