Only the crack of light around the door
To stop the vacuum closing in
Where the fullness of sound had gone before
Now only the dropping of a pin;
To be left in this empty hollowed-out place
After all the laughter is hard
To feel the silence permeate the air
With no feeling or regard;
The blanket of warmth once wrapped around
Is now a creeping chill
Frosting away the rosy glow
And drying the inken quill;
To sense that the past is all around
And even touching the skin
The human form with satin flesh
Now an ice cold mannequin.
