If sadness hasn't reached me
then will my pen relate?
If darkness has not taught me
those silly things of fate,
and your hand has been absent
and my flesh has grown cold.
Will make believe continue
the love that has grown old ?
If blood has stopped its travel
and lips have ceased to speak,
Will you then still remember
the babble of the weak?
Will you still remember
that I have craved you so
Or will you walk the road
that my love will not go?