Dead eyes, they see a dead world,
With all that's dead or dying curled,
Around everything, nothing left alive,
Nowhere left to hide,
Only dead things by your side.

All your tears ceased to be,
So what's the use crying?
Who would see, who could see?
None but the dead and dying.

Living death,
Still no last breath,
Life an empty cup,
An ocean with joy washed up,
Waiting to dry,
Willing to try but why,
If it's just going to hurt more?
A not-quite-death becomes a festering sore.

Waiting and willing,
But life unfulfilling,
People walk by,
With blinded eyes,
Blind to all this emptyness. . .