Her soul a rambunctious creature
Lost in the grey shadows that
Grow with death.
A memory made of silk,
How simple it is when
The whole world goes away
And the body dies.
Tell me once more how the body
Is a vessel; a shell; how it's job here is done.
Tell me more about how I can still see her
In my dreams, in my mind.
Tell me more about how the only thing
That has truly died is that we can
No longer make new memories with her.
The gazebo gathers no souls waiting for
My triumphant passing and so I wander
To hell with blood on my hands.
My own blood, and to hell with consequence.
The only thing that makes us cry is the pictures set to a sad tune