There is music that will play on,
when we are gone.

When we have slept,
And when we have weapt,
moving away
to a another day.

The music will still play
on for it's own
And for no one,

As when we are gone,
The stars won't be done,
They blink
They shine like a golden ink,

They will never leave,
They'll dance,
And we'll greave
And leave.

Just as we have always done,
And they will never do.

I settle down to bed,
I'll read or sleep or write
Or not

I'll write if they do, I'll work because they have,
I'll use there inspiration as a sign to find my own, to write my life or a story or my thoughts on them,

As, if they can write so can I,
They write a story I'll write a poem,
They wright a thousand words and I'll write one.

They write to us, to me
I will write to them, a compliment,
I will write to be seen or read as by only me,
For I am alone, weather I am seen or no,
I am alone

So I will sleep tonight as I have read and they have write,
We both sleep, alone and tonight.