The leather of life wears away everyday.
The poems I write are falling apart.
The music of life will stand up and play.
My chest is open; there’s a hole in my heart.
Time passes and heals all wounds that we carry.
Beating on like a marching band.
Without our love, who else can we marry?
We leave this world without holding a hand.
Eat all my words; drink all my sorrows.
Follow the ones with no one to follow.