Place your faith into the wooden stake you wear    in place of seeing you through.   And you'll lose all your youth    to prove that this life is made of time.      The television bleeds   another way to change to face    your eyes couldn't keep.   And you shake,   patient in the wake of your mind running blind.      Were you in on the kill sweetheart?    Are you more than a ghost?   I'll continue to hide my eyes in denial   that you're gone as you lie here,   deadly still.      And my mind will drift    and drip out of my head.   As the children cry out,   tenderly they sing.      In between your disease,   I can't see straight.