When songs are sung into eternity.

When names are hewn beyond the touch of time.

We write ourselves into antiquity,

In rooms we lay, the moss will cloud our names.

The skin retreats, and even bones abide.

Till fungus feasts on all that I became.

I weep no tears, and in the dirt confide.

When joy is shared and moments may pass by.

When life is lived, in spite of death’s approach.

The glass will break; branches bend to untie.

Ours is now, while the end will still encroach.

Lord time, do your worst, and I will stay here.

Tomorrow fades premature, now is clear.