O, patriarch! Give me back the key [to] sweet centuries stolen out from under me.

Every year, it repeats: I heard its name when you whispered it to me.
I swore I would remember, but again it slipped away.
I felt it in my grasp, now I miss it every day.

Do you recall how it felt?
In my life, the horrors I've beheld collapsed upon their knees before the image I'd been shown. I wasn't sure, now I know.

You must have forgotten: did they pluck it from your head?
Sequestered among us, between the living and the dead.
I walked that narrow pathway, I beckoned down the stairs. I smelled you there.

I closed my eyes to take a break. I fell asleep and drifted far away, I had another dream that this machine would fall apart. I was screaming, and my car wouldn't start.

This disease is getting worse. I've got a habit to support that I've made a curse. They say they will, but they'll never find a cure for this disease. This is it: you're released.

Every day, it repeats: I go there when I sleep, I taste it when I eat. At first I could remember all the things that slipped away. I cannot think, I cannot say.

Do you recall how I felt? Was I real? Did you melt? Am I here? Do you see?

Still desperate not to be.

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