He's going.

He's going
In my throat the blood thunders
He's going
In my temple it beats
He's going
In my wrist it fights
To come out.

And this thought thunders
He's going
And beats
He's going
And fights
He's going
And fights
To be untrued.

From what height to fall to shatter painlessly
He's going
To what chaos dive to drive sense away
He's going
Every sense is screaming, stamping like a child, weeping like a widow
He's going
Desolate like a soldier dying, marching
He's going
To the beat of
He's going
To the beat of
He's going
His absence.

To the gong of

He's gone.