Rick Springfield - His last words

My father was too weak to parry the blade As death's scythe swept through the house one night When we were busy doing other things Dust filled his mouth and stopped his breath And darkness took his soul in this familiar place His body, wasted by the sickness His spirit weary from the battle He spoke to me, forever his son Of all things save death: I longed to face it with him But seeing his fear I feared to speak of it And though we both saw death's dark irresistible form In the far corner We talked instead of evening shadows On bedroom walls And so it went There were no proud and profound last words No bright ringing final moment of clarity He just died We kissed his still warm face And promised forever The cold wind blew through the trees in my father's yard And I looked for meaning