Been sitting silent in the basement
for more than two hundred days
Counting and marking
increments with a pen

Upon his wrist the ink will seep
deep down into his skin
for simple lack of something
more permanent

I've tried to make an influence
to break the trance, to give him hope
i tried to tell him that
there is something greater

That some purpose lies unseen,
something bigger than ourselves.
His memory too weak
to resuscitate her.

His lips are cracked, face is gaunt
Symptoms of death to which he'll succumb
he's listening for a message that cannot come
that will not come
she will not come.