When all your friends have left,
moved on from the world you can’t let go,
left the show you think will never end,
where will you go?
The nice old lady down the street is dead,
the cats on the windowsill are beaten red,
the front door is rusted shut,
and yet your notions remain uncut.
What will you do when the fantasy fades,
when you find yourself alone,
clinging to memories that look better in the dark,
and you refuse to recognize as stark?
Who shall you turn to,
when you’ve laid flowers on her grave,
picked up the bled-out mouse,
failed entry to the burnt-out house?
As the light of the day welcomes the dark,
and you learn it’s rather cold,
you’ll find yourself wishing,
you had listened to what your mother told.
While you wish you could take it all back,
everything you’ve said,
you’ll soon understand,
that that world is long since dead.