My life will end as a blank canvas on an empty wall in an empty house in a street that no one remembers I will fade into the endless black drowned amongst the many nameless forgotten by all who once swore to remember me I will lie dying in a potter's field with a wilting flower and a first name only I will never publish my words and I will never show my art And I will forget to leave this town fading like every other here who had big, but fragile dreams I will always exist but forget to live.