Most books, like their authors, are born to die; of only a few books can it be said that death hath no dominion over them; they live, and their influence lives forever.
J. Swartz
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Disappearing One
What have you done, my little spark?
Cursing my name cause again I put you out
Falling apart, you tell yourself you are
Dreaming only of the ones who never dream of you
I'm your disappearing one
Vanish when the curtain's drawn
But I will come again, and you will let me in
And you'll see I never disappear for long
Into your room I stumble now
Too tired to cower, and it's too late to draw you out
And there you lie like a painting of Christ
Bleeding on the heads of the ones who nailed you down
I'm your disappearing one
Vanish when the curtain's drawn
But I will come again, and you will let me in
And you'll see I never disappear for long