I was walking through the street

With a hollow in my heart,

Aching for the faces I

Will never see again,

When I looked into the chapel

Standing squat on Broad and 4th,

And saw what makes me wonder,

Why we ever venture forth.



A little old lady, a little old lady,

By the open coffin’s side

Staring at the empty face to whom

She is the bride.

An isolated moment where no love

Can ever hide,

A foretaste of the end to which we

Ever closer tide.

A little old lady by the open coffin’s side;

A foretaste of the end to which we

Ever closer tide.



Left behind with broken faces

Staring down into the grave,

It makes me wonder if we’ll always be death’s

Lifelong slave.