Week 7 - breathless (2-3) vs. Split Eight (2-1) - BREATHLESS WINS BY NO-SHOW

[breathless]

I know, it's a hard decision, but it's all we have left dear.
I've sold the farm equipment, it's gone. There is no next year.
Yet this fall feels the best... It's weird.
No more toiling our lives away in soil that's lined with hay.

Looking at better horizons while the whethers just die and fade.
Floods of tears will only worry us once the other is gone.
What's unclear though, surely, is the smother of fog.
Our memories are distant, everything reminiscient
has become unsettling, inefficient for remembering.
So this is...
The present we have to live in for the moment, regifted.
I wish you would still know it once tomorrow's sun has risen.

But you won't, and that's okay...
just another day in the life of a bald rhymer.
I hope you can hear me everytime that I say:
I love you, my little old white haired wife with Alzheimer's.

Christ, if I wanted to, I could berate you,
for the curse of taking care to take care of you
I could repeat myself every hour as the rates grew.
Sometimes, I hate to say, but it's true,
the end might be the greatest news tonight.

You must be getting tired, you keep leaning closer.
Your head is growing too heavy on my feeble shoulder.
Plus, it's starting to get dark out, and what's more, you're cold.
Let's go inside, call it a night... my stories are told.

Move over a bit so I can get up and help you to your feet.
Honey...hey... Yoohoo...honey...
huhhh... My my, you're already asleep.

As he nudges her, she doesn't move...

and he finally breathes a sigh of relief.