Wash my sorrows in your loving hands,
Sweetly playing tunes of evermore.
Kill me with a thousand memories
Of nights and lies that never harmed a flea.

The days grow shorter and the black grows long,
And you, my sweet, will never live to tell
Of men you knew when you were seventeen.
The figures in your head will go to hell.

The stopper in your bottle's out of time.
To death, to death you go without a word.
The name you give the reaper, it is mind.
Imaginary pizza, it's absurd.

I wile alway the hours in a chair
And cake the mud around remaining dreams.
I look and see a body standing there
And only you and I know what that means.