Smiles fade
As people perish.
Lives trade
With the symphonies
Of the dead
And visions emerge
From the head.

People ask
If we're ok
It's a hopeless task
So we answer
With 'I'm fine'
Though we're not.
And day by day
We slowly rot
And answer the same question
Over and over.

We silently wish
To be taken away
By a four-leaf clover.
Smiles fade
As people perish
But really,

We are the ones perishing.