Death does not become me whilst you tell me of your troubles
And I want nothing more than to pass that pacification onto you
Yet I interject with anecdotal historic battles
And barren attempts at succor while I misuse
My conviction, your confidence in me dwindles
And my intention fails to break through

Hoping to save our collective sanity
Compelled to contradict our comparable sorrow
I don’t say these things to serve my vanity
I say these things to let you know that I know

Broken in second-hand silence
Passing obligation with idleness
Your role became manifest
Your dark infantile conscience

Buried me in hesitant remorse
Before my own crashing course
Collapsed my own self-made concourse
And left me with naught but self discourse

I thought you knew my hollow
I thought you felt the echo
Of silence, when really your hallowed
Passivity became your ego

The vacuous misery I became
When too young to remember the flame
That was scorching whatever joyful acclaim
I could never have overcame

What gave my hollow its first substance
Yet I rebelled against its abhorrence
And sought for some analogous significance
That I mistakenly thought might be our resonance

I thought you knew my hollow
I thought you felt the echo
Of our silence, when really your hallowed
Passivity became your ego