There is no final to this thing
And though we have ceased
It will go on
Until
Lungs fill with dust
And the breaths in
Them return
as the winds of the sea
Or the streets of our memories
Or in your childhood home
Or the parks you once adored
Or as the air that dried the tears
That we’ve shed
There is no final to this thing
And though we have ceased
It will go on
Until
When I am
with you
So make space
For me
In your
Coffin
There is no final to this thing
And though we have ceased
It will go on.