Imagine your favorite thing, in front of you
You have had it before,  it's lovely still

Demise.


For the moment you reach for it
Take it in your hands

Whisper sweet love songs in its ear..
The taste is not the same.

It's burnt, black, crumbling In your hands
Mind and heart.

You try to pick it up piece by piece as gently as you can.
Build it back the way it was,
the way you remember.

But you can't.

You can't make what's dead love you,
or feel for you.  

Once it's been dead it remains in the pit of ash and dust.
But when your dead yourself,
you lay in the remains and try to find the comfort in lust