When I rot,
Will you tend to me?
Will you comfort me?
Will you stay, even at my worst?
When I rot,
Will you hold my hand?
Will you tell me everything's fine,
Even if it wasn't, and never will?
When I rot,
Would you make me feel alright?
Would you lay beside my casket,
And hum my favorite tune?
When I rot,
Would I still be your love?
Would you still be patient,
Enough to see me dwindle to nothing?
When I rot,
Will you still see me as me?
Would you not change for me?
Would you still find the good that's long not within me?
Oh—that's right;
You never felt real;
You weren't even here to begin with.