What would I do with me, without you? Do any of us know what would be true? More than I was, less than I have been, Piece of me missing, no nib in my pen. Scratching at life but leaving no mark, Like rubbing two sticks without spark. Words are too weak, should I just quit? Is it only your fire that keeps mine lit?
If my dreams fleeting, passing clouds? Will I know wisdom before my shroud? Sewn into canvas, dropped into the sea, Buried to nourish a yet unplanted tree. Life into death into life, yet unknown, Most likely the next life isn’t our own. I wonder, the future’s all wait and see, What’ll you do with you, without me?