The other day, I saw a grave.
Adorned with angels,
And your stupid phrase,
"Run away to fight another day",
But how many times did we arguer over that?
Your foolish optimism, my cynical despair,
it's more like "Run away to DIE another day".

Your grave is wreathed in flowers,
Surrounded by statues, eternal flames and tears,
The mourners surround in clusters,
Yet some distance away I stand.

The others, they have called me false,
What kind of friend am I?
They did not see me at the burial,
Nor hear me set foot in the church.
I did not stand at the podium and speak on your behalf,
But that's only because there are no words that could ever begin to say.

But I was there all the same,
For just like in life, I continue watch, guide, and support and protect
you,
And all without ever showing my face.

Yet months later,
The ground stands barren,
And your plot is stained with decay.
Your last resting place lies in ruins and all but forgotten,
As they live on for another day.

Yet there is one vessel that yet holds a soul,
Standing amongst the sea of graves.
It is I, for I meant it when I swore I would never leave your side.
And now I stand here, eternally,
Slowly becoming stone myself,
As I stand in icy silence...
As I stand in bitter acceptance...
As I stand in the shadow of your grave.

 
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