You smell like an old book,
Like dust and chemicals and mold,
Do you not care of how you look?
So worn, so tired and cold.
You remind me of death and decay,
Stinking like a funeral home,
If I were to leave would you be in dismay?
For only side by side is where we have roamed.
I fear you may blow away if I dare let a breeze in,
As your ash is spreading about as you stand,
Tell me, would you even feel the gentle prick my pin?
If only better in life had I planned.
Worth everything and nothing at the same time,
Your life was up far before I can recall,
Perhaps we should leave and stop this crime,
To better us here in the wall,
After all, you smell like an old book,
And they’re bound to find you if they just look.