I’d write you a poem but my hands are too cold
There’s little light where I am
And my will is growing old

I’d say the last time I saw you, under an electric moon
Was the last time I felt warm
And you took that warmth too soon

Bast and I still speak of you, over fires and amber soaked rocks
That smile that lit a world
My sadness that memory mocks

I have no one to send this to, no one I’d expect cares
Perhaps one day you’ll read this
And see I’m always there