He cried for all these years.
She died and they mourned.
But as lovers, they could never feel it.
They believed as one blood.
They tried so hard to make it.
As the days passed,
the webs in all the corners,
the dust upon our treasures,
Every day they mourned.
They sleep with their eyes wide open,
All dreams were made from grief.
And every day they spent,
trying to make it fancy,
trying to take it all away.
The days they mourned,
have become all the days they could remember.
And every time they would see him cry,
There was nothing left but to remember.