Death comes steadily, swiftly, on the frosted lips of early morn,

Dripping up into the shallow vanilla sky as the lone soul cries
Over a life yet unlived, and with trembling lips, whispers, I

Should have, could have, would have, if I had only known the time.
And he passes silently only after screaming to an empty room, No!

And the soul’s sister stares, turns into her pillow to weep and sleep
Finally until she awakes wandering in her gown, wondering, I

Should have, could have, would have, if I had only known the time.
And she passes restlessly on clouds of sorrow from room to room.