Fifty seven minutes
Left for reflection
Of the joys and sorrows of a life mostly misspent
Of childhood friends, and teenage pranks
And the people to whom I still owe thanks
And the Coney Island franks I still can taste
In this, the last hour I'll ever waste

Fifty six minutes
Left for the anger
For the rage and the moods and the bitter violent nights
For the cheaters who snitched, and thew whiners that bitched
And the fair weather friends who turned and switched
And all the charges that I have faced
Before this, the last hour I'll ever waste

My heart is heavy but soon it will be free
And the pain won't end for the ones that I've hurt
But soon it will for me
On the way, . . on the way, . . . on the way, . . . on the way

Fifty five minutes
Left for absolution
To confess my sins and call for the prison priest
To repent and pray for my soul this day
Before the gurney comes and rolls me away
With no amount of undue haste
At the end of this, the last hour I'll ever waste