Place your faith into the wooden stake you wear
in place of seeing you through.
And you'll lose all your youth
to prove that this life is made of time.
The television bleeds
another way to change to face
your eyes couldn't keep.
And you shake,
patient in the wake of your mind running blind.
Were you in on the kill sweetheart?
Are you more than a ghost?
I'll continue to hide my eyes in denial
that you're gone as you lie here,
deadly still.
And my mind will drift
and drip out of my head.
As the children cry out,
tenderly they sing.
In between your disease,
I can't see straight.